


Severus Snape and the Unexpected Gift

by Tinuviel_Undomiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-22 20:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinuviel_Undomiel/pseuds/Tinuviel_Undomiel
Summary: AU of The Sorcerer's Stone: while Severus Snape knew Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts, he had no idea Dumbledore would hire a new nurse who not only was a former students of his, but enjoys matching him wit for wit. While he works to keep Quirrell away from the stone, he wonders why Anastasia Thornwood is at Hogwarts and why she claims he was her favorite teacher.





	1. The Nurse at Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently became a fan of Harry Potter, crazy I know, but I didn't read the books or watch the films when I was kid. But I've finally taken the plunge and I really enjoyed them. Obviously, my favorite character is Snape since he has inspired my first story for this fandom. Now I'll be working closely with canon, but there will be some changes, in particular this original character of mine. I also will use both the books and the films as inspiration. I hope you enjoy it.

            Severus Snape didn’t glance out the window of the train as it weaved its way towards Hogwarts. As a child he’d taken this same train, each click on the tracks a memory, some good, some bad. He kept his focus on the book in his hand. It did no good thinking about those days, full of bitter regrets and stinging guilt. He continued to read through _Studies on Dementors_ , ignoring everything else around him. Elsewhere on the train, the other professors were chatting over tea, talking about their plans for the new school year or the gossip going around Diagon Alley. No one bothered to ask Snape about his opinions on any of it; they all knew better by now.

            There was the rustle of the cart as it moved down the aisle, but Snape never glanced at it. He was reading about the Dementor’s Kiss when he heard someone in the compartment across from him ask for a Honeymead Dark Chocolate. Snape lifted his head from his book and looked at the empty seat across from him. For a moment, he was eleven years old again, absolutely drowning in his new school robes. Lily was bouncing on the seat beside him, eagerly drinking in everything out the window as the train rattled on. The snack cart came by, the woman asking them with a warm smile if they wanted anything. He had just enough money to buy a Honeymead Dark Chocolate, but Lily was short, still used to Muggle money rather than wizard currency. She looked wistfully as the cart rolled by, unable to savor any of the sweet. Severus had broken his candy bar in half, offering her the slightly bigger portion. Lily’s face had lit up with that dazzling smile of hers. It was worth all of the chocolate in the world just to see her smile.

            A loud whistle from the train brought him back to present. Lily was dead. Her smiles were gone. Even if she were alive, she would never have smiled at him again. Just another painful reminder that Severus Snape was never wanted by anyone. He returned to his book, desperately reading each line to keep his old ghosts from haunting him more.

            At last, the train stopped just outside of Hogwarts. He could already see the carriages with the thestrals waiting outside. He never asked how many of the other professors could see the beasts hitched outside, but he’d seen plenty of death ten years ago, odds were he was not alone. Severus stuffed his book inside of the pocket of his robe and reached for his suitcase at the top of the compartment. The rest of his bags would be unloaded later and sent to his usual room. He was on his way out of his compartment when something hard smacked him on the side of his head. He gritted his teeth at the bit of pain, hearing a gasp. “Merlin’s teeth, I’m so sorry, Professor Snape.”

            He gingerly tested the spot just above his ear, deciding it wasn’t too bad, just a slight bruise that thankfully would be covered by his hair. He snapped his eyes towards the idiot, expecting it to be Sprout or Trelawney, but to his surprise it was an entirely new face. She was wearing a light blue traveling coat with a matching hat. She wore a grey skirt and he could see a lavender blouse peeking out from the collar of her coat. Her hair was blonde and riot of thick curls that fell around her shoulders. She was shorter than he was, barely reaching his shoulders. She looked up at him with large hazel eyes, a mixture of grey, blue and green. He couldn’t turn away from those eyes, the prickle of familiarity there but he was unable to place just how he knew them.

            “My suitcase got caught on something,” she explained, holding up the case so he could see for himself. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.”

            “I’ll be fine. Try not to bash anyone else’s head in,” he warned her. She was clearly new to the staff here, and he briefly thought of asking her what she was doing at Hogwarts. However, the way her lips curled suggested she would take any question as an opening to begin a conversation, something he had no intention whatsoever of doing. Instead, he moved past her, being sure to avoid her troublesome suitcase again.

            It was a relief to be back in his room and his office, shut away from the rest of the school. Truth be told, he didn’t dislike any of the professors, though Flitwick could be exceedingly annoying at times. However, none of them had ever really forgiven him for joining the Death Eaters all of those years ago. Snape slowly pulled down the sleeve of his robe, eyeing the faded Dark Mark. He wouldn’t forgive himself either, truth be told. The mark was worse than a scar, it was an omen. As long as it stayed faded red, things would be well. But it was still there, a reminder that though weak, the Dark Lord was still alive…and waiting.

            Dinner the first night was always held after a brief staff meeting. The school was rather eerie without any students, truth be told, but sometimes he preferred the solitude. There was security it being alone. The other professors were all there, including Quirrell, much to his annoyance. Dumbledore still refused him the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts with no explanation yet again. Quivering Quirrell as they called him in school probably couldn’t face a pixie let alone teach students how to prepare for a future war.

            Severus took his usual place at the table, next to McGonagall. She nodded at him in greeting which was plenty for him. He didn’t say a word to any of the other staff, not that they had much time. Dumbledore strode in just then, still wearing his grey robes and cap. He smiled broadly at them all as they all stood. “Please, please, sit down. I’m happy to have you all here for another year at Hogwarts.”

            Dumbledore sat in his chair and everyone else quickly followed. “Are the rumors of the return of the Triwizard Tournament true?” McGonagall asked.

            “From what I’ve heard, the Ministry of Magic is still considering it. It certainly will not be this year,” Dumbledore said. “Now before we begin, I’d like to introduce new members of our staff. First we have Professor Quirinius Quirrell, our new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher.”

            Quirrell stood slowly, giving a nervous wave as everyone clapped for him. “Most of you remember him from when he served as Professor of Muggle Studies. I’m happy to welcome him back from his sabbatical.”

            Severus clapped without any vigor. It seemed that long journey hadn’t toughened Quirrell up at all, just given him a rather ridiculous turban.

            Quirrell sat back down once the clapping died down. Dumbledore smiled down at someone further down the table. “Now, I’d like to introduce a new addition to our hospital, Nursing Sister Anastasia Thornwood.”

            Severus looked down to see the little blonde woman on the train now standing. She wore a grey nursing dress with a little white apron and cap. She smiled at everyone, blushing prettily. “Sister Thornwood graduated Hogwarts at the top of her class. She was training nurse at St. Mungo’s before returning here to serve under Madame Pomfrey. I’m sure she will be an excellent addition to our staff.”

            Everyone continued to clap at her, but Severus just stared. She was young, young enough to have been one of his students. He never really thought about what became of them after they left Hogwarts, truth be told. None of his former pupils dared to look him in the eye, even if he saw them at Daigon Alley or elsewhere. Yet, just as this thought crossed his mind, Sister Thornwood looked across the table directly at him. She gave him a smile before sitting down, never once breaking her gaze. Somehow, this disturbed him far more than anything he’d ever witnessed from Voldemort.

* * *

           Hogwarts was exactly as Ana remembered it, though it was a bit too quiet with no students around yet. Right now she was just going over stock and making sure everything was in order. Once the students arrived, especially when Quidditch started, there would be far more to do.

            She was counting out their stock of unicorn hair bandages when she heard the door to the hospital open. Dumbledore walked in followed by Madam Pomfrey who was still in her traveling robes. “Ah, I thought you would be here,” he said, “Madam Pomfrey, this is the new nurse I told you about, Sister Anastasia Thornwood.”

            Madam Pomfrey looked her over carefully so much that Ana wondered if she was using _legilimancy_. “Yes, Professor Dumbledore told me all about you, though he didn’t say you were so young. When did you graduate?”

            “1989,” she said, “But don’t let my age discourage you. I graduated as Head Girl here and I finished my training at St. Mungo’s in less than two years. The head healer gave me a wonderful reference.”

            “Indeed,” Dumbledore broke in to say, “Healing is in her blood. She’s a direct descendent of Helena Beathan.”

            Madam Pomfrey’s brows rose and a smile curved her lips. “Impressive.” She looked back at Dumbledore and said, “I see, you’re trying to make me obsolete with resurrections.”

            “Oh I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a chuckle.

            “Well, I think Sister Thornwood and I will get along just fine.”

            “Oh, do please call me Ana,” she said and held out her hand for Madam Pomfrey to shake.

            “Poppy,” she replied back.

            “Well, now that you two have gotten to know each other, I’m superfluous,” Dumbledore said with a smile, “I’ll see you both at dinner later.”

            “Thank you, Albus,” Poppy told him before he walked out the door. She turned back around with an eager smile on her face. “Now that it’s just the two of us, we can gab.”

            Ana giggled and nodded, quickly putting away the bandages and then perched herself on an empty bed. “I’m so excited to be back at Hogwarts.”

            “I have to admit being surprised a pretty young thing like you would want to come back to a school she only left three years ago.”

            Ana smiled and shrugged. “Hogwarts is like my home. I missed it.”

            Poppy nodded as she put away her coat and hat. “Still, I’m sure St. Mungo’s had far more excitement than healing broken wrists after Quidditch.”

            “After dealing with a quarantine for cerebrumous spattergroit, I could use a little less excitement.”

            “Oh say no more,” Poppy said, waving one hand and nodded in agreement. She waved her wand and swapped her travel clothes for her normal nursing uniform. “So what interests you most in healing?”

            “Spells, of course,” Ana said, “But I’ve always had a passion for potions as well.”

            “Ah, well that will certainly be useful. I’m much handier with spells and transfiguration than potions.” She used her wand to order up a tray of tea and biscuits for them to share. She poured them each a cup, offering Ana cream and sugar. “So, have you met all of the staff yet?”

            “Well, I knew them from when I was student,” Ana reminded her and took a biscuit, “But I’m sure it will be different when I’m not having to worry about passing their classes or avoiding Filch so I don’t get caught after curfew.”

            Poppy chuckled at that. “Yes, well you should know that Minerva loves strawberries, so you’d best give up getting any of those at breakfast. If you want to stay on Filch’s good side, go through his cat.”

            “I knew that one already,” Ana said.

            “Yes and I would just stay away from Professor Snape. You can’t crack that stone.”

            “Really?” she asked before taking a sip of her tea, “Nobody likes him?”

            “Hmm,” Poppy mused. She took a bite out of another cookie, swallowing before she continued, “It’s not that no one likes him, it’s just he’s not a very sociable man. It’s hard to make friends with someone who spends most of his time down in the dungeons alone.”

            “Maybe someone just hasn’t reached out to him yet.”

            “Humph,” Poppy grunted and poured herself a cup of tea, “The day that man makes a friend, I’ll eat my hat.”

* * *

          September 1st arrived soon enough which meant another school year and another batch of first years was about to arrive. This shouldn’t be any different from any of the other ten years Severus Snape had witnessed, but there was one big change: Harry Potter was going to arrive.

            It had been relatively easy to ignore the boy since he hadn’t laid eyes on him since that night Lily and James had died. He had barely looked at the baby, his focus solely on the dead woman he had loved. Now he couldn’t help but wonder how much the boy was like his mother…or his father. All he knew was that he had Lily’s eyes.

            The older students would be arriving soon under the direction of their prefects, but at the moment it was only the staff, minus McGonagall and Hagrid. Quirrell was still wearing that odd purple turban; apparently it was a gift from an African prince though he wondered if perhaps the prince just wanted to get rid of the eyesore.

            The ghosts had dropped in just as the older students began to file in. He gave the Blood Baron a brief nod, but the ghost had to quickly chase off Peeves before the poltergeist yanked the tablecloth off of the Slytherin table. The new nurse walked in with Madam Pomfrey, but she broke free to hurry to where the Fat Friar was talking to some of the Hufflepuff students.

            “Friar, it’s so good to see you again,” she said.

            “Oh, little Ana!” the ghost said rapturously, “How marvelous to see you again. Hufflepuff House has missed you so.”

            Ah, so new girl was a Hufflepuff. Well that told him everything he needed to know about her. Now he couldn’t help but wonder how she’d managed to graduate at the top of her class as Dumbledore had said. He tried to think back, but he still couldn’t remember her at all. Granted, he rarely thought about his former students.

            A smile lit up her face when she saw him through the shade of the Friar. “Oh, Professor Snape, isn’t this exciting.”

            “I’ve seen Sortings for ten years,” he reminded her coolly.

            “Nine, you weren’t a professor yet until November when I was first sorted,” she corrected him.

            It was the first time someone had corrected him in ten years. Severus was beginning to believe it wasn’t that he couldn’t remember this girl, but that he’d blocked her from his mind. Clearly she had been one of those know-it-all students that never ceased to annoy him. He just turned around and walked to his place beside Quirrell without saying another word to her.

            Sister Thornwood took a seat at the end by Madam Pomfrey and he was determined to ignore her for the rest of the year. What made it easier was the arrival of the first years with Professor McGonagall marching before them. The Sorting Hat was already perched on the stool, lifeless at the moment. It popped up once McGonagall, singing a new Sorting Song like it did every year. Then it was time for the first student to be sorted.

            He could still remember when Lily was perched on that stool and the hat placed on her red hair. He had stood in line, begging for it to call out Slytherin, the very house he wanted to be in since it was his mother’s house. His heart had sunk down to his shoes when it has loudly proclaimed “Gryffindor!” He had been torn after that of being in the house of his wizard lineage and a new desire to join Lily at her new table. Yet he was sorted into Slytherin while James Potter got to sit next to Lily and begin his pursuit of her.

            The sorting began and students cheered when new members joined their houses. The life of first years grew shorter and shorter. Truth be told, for a teacher it was a rather dull affair until Professor McGonagall called out, “Harry Potter.”

            Everyone went quiet as the young boy walked up towards the stool. He finally got his first look at him and it was like being sent back into the past. He looked just like James, with that same untidy black hair, round glasses, and square shoulders. If he had the same arrogant smile they would be twins. The only thing he could see of Lily was his eyes. They were just like hers, large and green. If only the rest of her were here.

            He sat down on the stool and McGonagall dropped the hat onto his head. Everyone held their breath and waited. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sister Thornwood leaning closer in her chair, her eyes locked in on the boy. Then the hat rang out, “Gryffindor!”

            What a surprise. Severus rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat. Of course James’ son would be in the same house. By tomorrow he’d be roaming the school like he owned the place, snatching books out of students’ hands and hexing them so warts grew on their noses.

            Sister Thornwood was like all of the rest, staring intently at the boy as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. He shouldn’t have expected more from a Hufflepuff. Well, at least he was in a place to make sure Lily’s son didn’t become like his father, puffed up with grandeur. He may be an eleven-year-old celebrity, but he would make sure the boy realized he wasn’t as good as anyone else in this school.

* * *

          The first week of school was as chaotic as it always was. The students were still eager from their summer break, prone to mischief and not in the right mindset to truly dive in to their work. Worst still, his first class had been with Fred and George Weasley. While brilliant with potions if they put their minds to it, they were prone to extreme boredom that often resulted in explosions. He’d spent much of the week deducting points from the various houses by the time Friday rolled around.

            It was double potions day with the first years of Gryffindor and Slytherin. Not only would he have to keep an eye on the Malfoy boy per Dumbledore’s instructions, but Potter would be in this class. It would definitely be interesting to see if he had his mother’s proclivity for potions or his father’s haughty disdain for anything that didn’t require sweeping wand waves. He was betting on the latter.

            Severus burst into the classroom, causing many of the students to jump in front of their cauldrons. “There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to enjoy the subtle science and exact art that is potion making.”

            He reached the front of the classroom, gazing at each on their vacant expressions. There were usually only a handful of students who had a true gift for potions. Suprisingly, Malfoy was actually staring at him with new interest. Perhaps Lucias had told him to try and butter him up. “However, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death.”

            The scratching of a quill on parchment pricked his ears. His gaze fell away from Malfoy and landed squarely on Potter, Merlin knew what he was writing. “Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confidant enough to not...pay...attention.”

            The Granger girl nudged at the boy in the ribs with her elbow and he finally looked up. Severus was lost for a moment in those green eyes, Lily’s eyes. Dumbledore had been right; they were just like hers exactly. But it wasn’t the same. The way he looked at him blankly reminded him too much of James.

            “Mr. Potter,” he said coolly, “Our new celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” The girl’s hand shot up, waving around in the air, but Potter only shrugged. “You don't know? Well, let's try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

            “I don’t know, sir,” he said.

            The Granger girl kept stretching her arm up, but he ignored her.

            “And what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfbane?”

            Now the girl was holding her arm up so high he was certain she was about to touch the ceiling. Another know-it-all.

            “I don’t know, sir.”

            “Pity,” he said with relish, “Clearly fame isn’t everything, Mr. Potter.”

            An impertinent look flashed across his face, one Severus had seen many times before in his youth. “Cleary Hermione knows; it would be a pity not to ask her.”

            Yes, he was just like his father all right. Arrogant cheek and a disdain for those in charge all rolled up into one boy eager for glory. The students began to giggle until Snape hissed out, “Silence.”

            He stared down at Potter for several moments before he made he way to where the boy was sitting. The Granger girl still had her arm up, though he doubted she could feel it anymore. “Put you hand down you silly girl,” he told her.

Severus grabbed a spare stool and dragged it over so he was sitting directly in front of Potter. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite.”

Potter said nothing. He just stared back at him with the same disdain as his father had. The air around them was completely silent. “Well,” he said without taking his eyes off of his old enemy’s son, “Why aren’t you all copying this down?”

            Immediately there was the tinkling sound of quills being dipped into inkpots and the scratching of the words being written on parchment. He stood up from his stool and whirled around to return to his desk, picking up his own quill. “And Gryffindors, note that five points will be taken from your house for your classmate’s cheek.”

            He couldn’t deny that it felt good being able to put a Potter in his place.

            The class continued and proved that the batch of first years was as incompetent as the last year’s bunch, especially the Gryffindors. Neville Longbottom proved to be particularly ridiculous, melting another student’s cauldron and sending his mixture everywhere. He didn’t pity the boy when he broke out in boils, just sent him away to the hospital wing and deducted more points for competence.

            The students were back to their potions when there was a knock on the door. “Enter,” he ordered without looking up from the burn on Crabbe’s arm that was oozing yellow puss.

            “Oh, Professor Snape, I apologize for interrupting your class,” Sister Thornwood said, smiling at him again. Did she regularly drink Tincture of Joy?

            “Why are you here?” he asked coolly.

            “The hospital’s stock of solanacae has rotted and Professor Sprout doesn’t have any that have matured yet. I was hoping you might have some I could borrow.”

            He lifted one brow, sensing an opportunity to best himself over the students again, even a former student. “Well, this is an opportune moment. Who can tell me what solanacae is?”

            Hermione Granger’s hand shot up again, but so did Malfoy’s. He selected him to answer of course. “It’s nightshade,” he said.

            “Excellent, five points for Slytherin. And can you tell me what reason Sister Thornwood would be in need of nightshade?”

            “Well…it’s used in poisons,” Malfoy said.

            Sister Thornwood shook her head and laughed. “I would be a pretty terrible nurse if I was trying to poison someone. But Miss Granger still has her hand up, what do you think I could be needing nightshade for?”

            Severus snapped his head around to glare at her, but the nurse paid him no mind. Granger put her hand down and said, “Nightshade, while a deadly poison, has magical properties that can relieve sever muscle spasms caused by poor transfiguration.”

            “Very good, Miss Granger,” Sister Thornwood congratulated her, “A third year was trying their hand at an animagus and it went poorly.” She looked over at Snape now and said; “I think you should give Gryffindor some points for that.”

            He glowered at her suggestion. “Class, Sister Thornwood here is rumored to be gifted in potions. I wonder, just how much do you remember?”

            She lifted her chin in challenge. “I’m willing to test my mettle.”

            “What potion requires fairy wings, doxy eggs, and dragon thoraxes?”

            “Girding potion,” she answered promptly.

            “How do you make Dragon Tonic?”

            “An Eagle Owl feather, three peacock feathers, and three warts from a Giant Purple Toad,” Sister Thornwood said.

            Damn, he hadn’t expected her to know that one. Well, he would just have turn things up a notch. “What will you get if you combine, flobberworm mucus, three newt eyes, dragon dung, and aramadillo bile?”

            Sister Thornwood wrinkled her pert nose and shook her head. “Something horrid to throw at your enemies I would imagine since there is no potion like that.”

            The students all let out titters of laughter and nudged each other. “Silence,” he barked at them again, still smarting at her. “Well, since you claim to be a professional healer, what potion would you recommend for Mr. Crabbe’s injury here?”

            Sister Thornwood walked around the desks to stand beside him. She knelt down and he got a wave of lavender and fresh linen that washed over him. It was a rather pleasant aroma, but he shook it away.

            “Hmm, did you bust a beaker of Shrake Spines?”

            “Yes,” the boy said.

            “Well, then the wound is instantly infected. I’m sure Professor Snape would recommend a tincture of willowbark.”

            “Oh?” Snape questioned, “And you wouldn’t?”

            “No, I recommend a philter of black toadstools.”

            “Black toadstools are highly poisonous, something I’m sure Miss Granger could tell you.”

            “True,” Sister Thornwood said, straightening up, “But I add hypodrop nectar to leech out the poison. Shall I show you?”

            Apparently the question was superfluous because she helped herself to an empty cauldron and immediately began pulling ingredients from his stores. “First, I grind up the toadstools in the mortar,” she said and promptly began to pulverize them. “Then I put them in the cauldron and low heat before adding the hypodrop nectar. Then I slowly bring up the heat until it starts to bubble.”

            The students were all leaning forward to watch as she used her wand to bring up the heat slowly. A few were even copying down her instructions. Once it was bubble and a light grey steam was rising from the mixture, she poured the mixture into a strainer. She discarded the dregs and then added two squirts of neem oil. She used her wand to clean the cauldron and then poured the mixture back into it. She put in some wiggentree bark shavings and then two sprigs of silverweed. She used her wand to stir the brew until it began to steam purple smoke. She poured it into a flask when she was done.

            “Now, I’m going to dab this on the wound, if you don’t mind. It might sting a bit.”

            Severus looked over at his stock to make sure he had a bezoar in case this went poorly. Crabbe flinched when the purple liquid trickled onto the cut. The pus began to froth and hiss, but then it faded away. She continued to dab gently at the cut until it was a faded pink line. “There, all better.”

            He couldn’t help but stare at the boy’s freshly healed wound. The willowbark would have healed it too, but not nearly as quickly. The students all clapped and chattered, smiling and pointing at her success. Sister Thornwood corked the flask and held it out for her Severus to take. “For you, in case you need it again.”

            He gave her a scathing look, waving his hand so the jar of nightshade whisked off of the shelf and thrust it towards her. “If you’re done, I have a class to teach.”

            “She should teach this class,” he heard Ron Weasley whisper to Potter. He answered him by taking the boy’s notebook and thumping him on the head with it.

            “I appreciate your compliment,” Sister Thornwood said to Weasley who was rubbing at his head, “But I did learn everything from Professor Snape.” Then, as if she hadn’t just thoroughly destroyed his lesson plans, she smiled back at Severus and said, “Thank you, Professor. I’ll return the solanacae when I’m finished.”

            She turned around and walked out of the door, the smell of lavender following her. The students were still chattering and gesturing to their notes and the flask now perched on Weasley’s desk.

            “Back to work,” Snape ordered them, “If everyone hasn’t finished by the end of the period, it will mean detention.”

            Immediately, they all went back to their cauldrons and started brewing again. Severus picked up the flask, tempted to toss it away in disgust, but the recognition of a well-made potion won out in the end. He slipped it onto the shelf by his desk, determined to try and see if he could improve it later. He wouldn’t let Sister Thornwood best him, not in his own potions class.

* * *

          Severus couldn’t pinpoint when his almost weekly meetings with Dumbledore began, perhaps back when he was still serving as his spy in Voldemort’s camp. Yet now they mostly served as weekly discussions about the school, the students, and any news about possible sightings of Voldemort. Aside from the wine Dumbledore served, little of value took place. Still, he would never admit he had come to enjoy the company of the headmaster.

            But today, Severus wasn’t able to calm himself with wine. Friday’s potion’s class had spread throughout the school. All of the students were buzzing about how the new nurse had bested Professor Snape and that Harry Potter had arrogantly defied him. Even dead, James Potter was still ruling the school from beyond the grave.

            It all started with Dumbledore simply inquiring about why he’d been so inclined to deduct so many points from Gryffindor in one lesson. Dumbledore didn’t question him so much, just looked at him over his copy of _Transfiguration Today_.

“— mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule- breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent —”

“You see what you expect to see, Severus,” Dumbledore said calmly, “Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.”

            Severus rolled his eyes, having expected nothing less. Dumbledore was always soft on the students, especially the Gryffindors. Dumbledore turned page in his magazine and said, “Keep and eye on Quirrell, won’t you?”

            “Whatever for?”

            “Filch caught him skulking around the third floor earlier.

            The third floor? Severus stopped in his pacing and looked back at him. “You can’t mean he intends to go for the stone, do you?”

            “When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn not to underestimate anyone.”

            “But Quirrell? He’s so…malleable.”

            “Which would make him an ideal target for Voldemort,” Dumbledore said.

            “Do you think he’s serving him now?”

            Dumbledore at last closed his magazine and looked him in the eye. “All I know is when Quirrell went on his sabbatical, he went to Albania which is where I’d heard rumors that Voldemort may have vanished to. Now he has returned after only a year…I’m suspicious is all. I could be wrong.”

            “You don’t think you are though,” Severus said. After working with the man for ten years, he’d learned when Dumbledore had a suspicion and just a mere hunch. This was no mere hunch. “Why did you hire him back then?”

            “Where else to keep a closer watch on him than under my nose? If he is serving Voldemort, I’d rather enclose him here than engage him outside.”

            “What am I supposed to do then?” Severus asked.

            “Like I said, keep an eye on him.”

            “That could risk my cover.”

            Dumbledore took up his cup and took another swallow of wine. “At the moment, Voldemort is too weak to pay any mind to you. Is your mark still faded?”

            Instinctively he clamped his hand over the mark on his arm. “Yes,” he said.

            “Then when the time comes where you must take up your mantle as his servant again, you’ll explain that you had no idea Quirrell was serving him and that you thought it expedient to continue to serve me. He’ll care more for what information you have on me than bearing a grudge against you for holding Quirrell back.”

            That wasn’t much comfort, but at the same time he couldn’t deny the logic. He couldn’t very well knock on Quirrell’s door and ask if he was serving Lord Voldemort. No, once again, the old man was best in this. He would observe him carefully for now.

            “You are certainly risky with your hires,” Severus said, “A possible servant of the Dark Lord and a nurse barely out of school.”

            Dumbledore chuckled a little and rose from his chair to refill his cup. “Severus, others said the same when I hired you after Slughorn left us. As for Sister Thornwood, I think she proved she was quite competent at her job.”

            He glared mutinously at the wizard who only gazed back in amusement over his goblet of wine. “Why did you hire her to begin with?”

            “Madam Pomfrey requested more help and she was the best suited for the post. Quite honestly, the director of St. Mungo’s was begging me not to steal her away.”

            “Perhaps you should have let her stay there then,” he sneered.

            “Come now, Severus, you should have taken it as a compliment. It was you who trained her in potions to begin with.”

            “She has an odd way of thanking me then.” Dumbledore chuckled again and shook his head at him. “What’s so amusing this time?”

            “I was just thinking about my interview with her is all.”

            “Oh? Is that what impressed you? Her ability to tell a good joke?”

            “No, actually, I asked her who her favorite teacher here was. She said it was you.”

            Severus stiffened, his dark eyes widening and his mouth dropping open for a moment. “What?”

            “Yes,” Dumbledore said over his cup, “I had a similar reaction.”

            Severus pinched his mouth together and scowled. “She must have been lying.”

            “Why would she do that?”

            “Because she wanted to be amusing.”

            “I assure you, she was quite serious. She said you inspired a passion for the art of potions and challenged her to seek out ways to improve her skills.”

            “That’s…that’s…” he couldn’t think of a word to say to that. Preposterous? Impossible? Ludicrous?

            “I was very curious myself what you did to inspire her so,” Dumbledore admitted, “I even went through her old school records. You have her very high marks, but I couldn’t find any actual notes that said you favored her in some way. Do you have any idea?”

            “I don’t even remember her,” he grumbled back.

            “A pity, clearly you left an impression on her,” Dumbledore said, “Perhaps you should ask her what you did.”

            “I’m not going to ask her anything. She can bloody well keep her nose out of my business and that will make me happy.”

            “Happy?” the old wizard questioned, “Would it now?”

            That was true. Severus Snape hadn’t been happy in a very long time. Truth be told, he couldn’t really remember the feeling all that well other then his time with Lily when they were young. Perhaps happiness was only meant for the young, or simply never meant for the likes of him.

            “Give her a chance, Severus,” Dumbledore said, “You might find you enjoy her company. Perhaps she likes you.”

            “Nobody likes me.”

            “Oh now I’m hurt,” Dumbledore said.

            “You don’t count.”

            “And why not?”

            “Because you need me,” Severus said.

            “True, very true, and you may not be the friendliest man I know, but I do admire your loyalty. I trust you know that.”

            He did, but he was never very good at holding on to friendships. But Dumbledore knew his greatest secret and had never spoke of it to anyone. He did trust him; trust him completely. It was the closest thing to friendship he knew since Lily.

            So he gave the man a nod and Dumbledore smiled. He picked up the second cup and filled it, holding it out to Severus, “Now, I am considering increasing the security around the stone.”

            “How, exactly?”

            “I haven’t decided yet, but you’ll definitely have a role to play.”

            “How exciting,” Severus said, taking a long sip of the elf wine. It was going to be an interesting year not only with dealing with a Potter again, but guarding the stone and dealing with an impertinent nurse. Perhaps Dumbledore had done all of this on purpose just to keep him on his toes. One could never put anything past the old wizard.

           


	2. Round Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mountain troll invades Hogwarts and Snape finds himself in need of the school's nurse, much to his chagrin.

            Word had spread throughout Hogwarts that Harry Potter, a first year, was now the new Seeker for the Gryffindor quidditch team. All of Gryffindor House was terribly excited by this news, as well as most in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. However, in Slytherin this was seen as an outrage. Why should the rules be bent for Harry Potter and none of the other first years? Yet, there it was.

            It was probably for the best that Oliver Wood had decided to hold Harry’s first practice so late in the evening. He hadn’t been entirely sure of his own skills so he didn’t want to disappoint any of the ones supporting him nor give Draco Malfoy and his friends any ammunition. However, Oliver was very good at delivering the basics and when they got up in the air, Harry forgot all about his nerves. It was really just fun diving after the golf balls, whooping at his success each time. Sometimes he still wondered if he was dreaming. Every morning he was afraid to open his eyes, certain he would see the bottom of the staircase back in his cupboard on Privet Drive. Yet…here he was.

They could only practice for a half an hour before it got too dark. Still, it was worth it and Oliver was smiling. “That Quidditch Cup’ll have our name on it this year,” said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons.”

            The fact that dragons were real was still astounding to Harry. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if they were as spectacular as quidditch. At that moment, he couldn’t imagine anything beating the feel of his Nimbus Two-Thousand between his hands.

            They were nearly to the castle when Harry saw there actually had been an audience after all, well just one. It was the pretty blonde nurse, Sister Thornwood. Neville had gushed over her after his broken wrist on their first broom lesson, insisting she was nicest person in the world and had even slipped him a chocolate after his wrist was mended.

            Had Professor McGonagall sent her in case he was hurt during his first practice? Oliver looked just as surprised to see her as he was. “Sister Thornwood, is everything alright?” Oliver asked her.

            “Yes, yes, everything is fine,” she said, wringing her hands a little, “I…I just happened to be passing by and saw Harry on his new broomstick…” She finally looked up from her feet, her eyes locking in on Harry’s. The look on her face reminded him of Ron’s just before they entered Hogwarts for the first time for the Sorting when he was worried they’d have to wrestle a troll. “You…you looked like your father up there, Harry.”

            Professor McGonagall had said his father was good quidditch player, but somehow he hadn’t thought to truly ask her about any of that. Probably because she was a teacher and that wasn’t exactly the same thing as being a friend. But Sister Thornwood was younger than Professor McGonagall. She must have known him in a way that McGonagall didn’t. Could she have been a confident? A playmate?

            “You knew my dad?” he asked.

            She nodded. “I saw him flying quite a bit one summer. He was always happy on a broomstick, loved showing off all of his tricks.”

            Harry’s face broke out into a smile. Somehow, her words had breathed life into a man long dead, a man he longed to know but never truly would. He knew that if his father had lived, he would have been flying alongside of him learning those same tricks. He couldn’t help the longing that arose, but the joy in knowing they had this in common.

            “What was he like?” Harry asked her, “Did you fly with him? What was his favorite trick?”

            Sister Thornwood glanced away from him, taking a few steps back and twisting her fingers into a knot. “H-Harry I think…I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I knew him well.”

            “But you said you knew him.”

            “I did, but…he was ten years older than me. I was just a child and he didn’t…” She shook her head gently and started blinking heavily. “We weren’t close, I’m sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have said anything, I just…I’m sorry.”

            She turned around and hurried off, almost at a run. She disappeared out of sight like she had been smoke from a dying candle. Harry could only look at where she’d gone, trying to piece together everything. Oliver voiced his own thoughts well. “That was strange,” he said.

            Yes, it was very strange. All he truly could take from that was that Sister Thornwood had known his father, yet she didn’t appear to want to talk about him much. Of course, that was true for most everyone. Perhaps he’d ask Hagrid about it all later. The caretaker was the only one who was a bit more open about his parents, even if he usually blubbered through it.

* * *

           It was close to dinnertime when a ghost invaded Albus Dumbledore’s office. It wasn’t the first time, in fact Sir Nicholas often would come by for a visit or the Bloody Baron would drag Peeves up to list his latest prank. However, this visit was by the Fat Friar who looked almost breathless despite having been dead for hundreds of years.

            “Oh, Professor Dumbledore,” the Friar said, “Do come quickly. Professor McGonagall is in need of you.”

            “Is something amiss?” Albus asked. His thoughts flickered to Quirrel. So far he had yet to see any hard proof that that man was now an agent of Voldemort, but his suspicions were still strong, especially after the break in at Gringotts.

            “Not exactly, but Sister Thornwood was crying. I tried to talk to her, but she was in such a state that she could barely speak to me. Professor McGonagall brought her to her office and I thought it wise to come for you.”

            “Yes, that was good thinking,” Dumbledore said with a nod, swiftly making his way out of his office and down the corridors. The Friar left to mingle back in the Hufflepuff common room before dinner. Meanwhile, Dumbledore made his way towards Gryffindor tower.

            He didn’t have to get into the Fat Lady’s corridor, but went down to where Professor McGonagall’s office was situated. He knocked once and heard her say, “Enter.”

            Minerva had pulled up a seat beside Ana’s in front of her desk. A tray with a tea service and some biscuits was situated before them and Ana was cradling one cup in her hand. Her cheeks were still wet and her eyes were red and swollen, but it looked like the worst of it was behind her.

            “Ah, I thought it might be you,” McGonagall said when he walked in. She stood up from her chair and gestured for him to take it.

            “Yes, the Friar came and found me,” he said, taking up the seat and smiling at Ana, “I remember how fond he was of you when you were a student here.” She gave him a watery smile back, but quickly reverted her eyes back to her teacup. “What’s happened, my dear? What’s upset you so much?”

            “She hasn’t told me, but the Friar said she had been coming back from the Quidditch field,” Minerva said, her tone low and full of sympathy. It wasn’t hard to guess what the answer to this mystery was.

            “You saw Harry,” Dumbledore said.

            Ana nodded over her teacup then said in a shaky voice, “He…he looks so much like James…and he wanted to know about him and I…I just…I couldn’t…”

             Her eyes were brimming over with tears. A sob slipped free from her lips and she covered her mouth with her hand.

            Dumbledore pried to cup out of her other hand and set it aside, but enveloped her small, smooth hand into his wrinkled, spotted ones. “Did you tell him everything?”

            Ana wiped her cheeks dry and shook her head. “I…I don’t think he’d like to know what I have to say.”

            “Truth is not always easy, but always what needs to be heard,” Dumbledore said.

            She looked up at him with large, red ringed eyes. “So you think I should tell him?”

            “I think you should tell him when _you_ think it is best,” he replied calmly.

            She nodded, but there was no joy in her face. “I don’t…maybe he’s better not knowing.”

            “I’ll leave that up to you, but I do feel it would be a loss for you both. I would only suggest not making any rash decisions. When you feel it is time, you will know.”

            It was clear she wasn’t thinking that time was now. With a flick of his hand, a white handkerchief appeared and it handed it to her. Ana used it to mop up her face, but he refused to accept it when she offered it back to him. “Now, it’s nearly time for dinner. Why don’t you go and clean yourself up? Unless you aren’t up for it.”

            “No, I’ll be alright. Thank you Albus,” she said, standing up from her feet with a thin, but warm smile on her face. “And thank you, Professor McGonagall.”

            “It’s Minerva, dear,” McGonagall told her and gently patted her arm as she walked past her, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

            Ana nodded once before opening the door and walking out, leaving them alone in the office. Dumbledore stood up from his seat and turned to McGonagall. “I’m glad you were here, Minerva. She’s a strong girl, but I think the past still has a way of haunting her.”

            “True for most of us,” McGonagall said, “Still, I’m surprised she still hasn’t told Potter anything.”

            “No,” Dumbledore shook his head, “It’s too hard for her. He looks so much like James did.”

            “But James—.”

            “Minerva, I’m afraid there are things you don’t know about her and James. It’s very difficult for her.”

            She frowned a little in puzzlement but nodded. “Perhaps, but he should be told. Don’t you believe he has a right to know the truth?”

            “Of course, but Harry has discovered many truths so far. He is only just beginning to learn about himself. All of this,” he gestured around the room with its moving pictures, vials of potions, quills and parchments and other various magical objects, “Is new for him. I don’t want to overwhelm the poor boy nor put Ana in a situation she doesn’t believe she is ready for.”

            “Do you believe she isn’t ready?” Minerva asked with that probing stare of hers.

            “The fact that she is here tells me she is,” Dumbledore said, “but until she realizes that herself, I will wait for her to decide when Harry should learn of everything. For now, let her chart her own path.”

            She nodded in acceptance, but the look in her eyes was the same one she gave to students when they disobeyed her. “What happens if he finds out before then?”

            “Let’s deal with the now instead of what if,” Dumbledore said. But he knew she was right. While the truth could be hard to accept, hard to believe, and painful even, it always had a way of breaking out and letting itself be known, especially when we least wanted it to.

* * *

          Halloween was bad enough with the smell of pumpkin flooding the entire castle. Severus had always detested pumpkin. Not only was the color positively unsightly, but also he’d never found the taste alluring unlike most of his colleagues. Of course, there was a bigger reason for why Halloween was so awful for him and it had nothing to do with pumpkins, bats, or children over indulging on sweets. It was the day he’d failed the one person he’d ever truly loved.

            As dinner moved on, Severus couldn’t help but glance over at Harry. The boy was sitting with the youngest Weasley boy and other Gryffindor friends, reaching over for a baked potato. If he knew that this was the day his mother and father had died, he showed no signs of it bothering him. If Lily’s son wouldn’t grieve, then he would do the job for them both. If it wasn’t required of him, he’d have stayed in his rooms rather than endure the festivities with the rest of the school. Lily deserved to be remembered by someone.

            Severus was quite content to brood over his dinner, ignoring everyone around him, but even this desire was stolen away from him when the door to the hall burst open. Quirrel came charging in, his purple turban bobbing as he ran. “Troll!” he cried as he raced down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. “Troll in the dungeons!”

            At last he stopped just before the staff’s table, a queer look coming across his face. “Thought you ought to know,” he said before collapsing in a heap on the floor.

            The silence that had filled the hall once Quirrel had burst in died the moment he struck the floor. Every table erupted with shouts and cries of fear, even the Slytherins to his chagrin. The first years were the worst, squealing like banshees in the darkest of midnight. All over an idiot troll.

            Dumbledore raised himself from his chair and raised his wand. Bright purple fireworks flared out from its tip and burst over their heads while his voice echoed through the hall, “SILENCE!”

            Everyone froze into statues. Their eyes turned towards the headmaster. “Prefects,” he began calmly but there was no mistaking the order in his tone, “You will lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately. The teachers you will follow me into the dungeons.”

            The Prefects all stood up and began to issue their own orders. For once, the students didn’t hesitate to okay, quickly filing out of the Great Hall. McGonagall and the other professors drew out their wands, but when Madam Pomfrey and Sister Thornwood did the same, Dumbledore stopped them. “It would be best if you two went to the hospital. Trolls may be foolish, but they can still do quite a lot of a damage.”

            Severus curled his fingers tighter around his ebony wand. Yes, trolls were stupid, so stupid in fact he had to wonder how one managed to sneak its way into Hogwarts. That was no easy feat, especially for a large, clumsy beast. No, something far more devious was going on. Someone was playing chess now, diverting them towards some hapless pawn while the real threat was aiming for the prize.

            He looked over at Dumbledore. Perhaps the man was using legilimency or he just knew his own mind too well, a rather disturbing thought. Nonetheless, the old wizard met his gaze. They said nothing. Words were not needed.

            While the headmaster led the professors out the Great Hall through the same doors the students had just left, Severus discreetly moved to the side where a door led to the kitchens. The House Elves used these stairs, but he didn’t bother going down. He went up, taking the steps two at a time, wishing he could move faster but the staircase was terribly cramped. House Elves didn’t need as much space as humans.

            He reached the third floor, coming out of a dusty portrait that was currently vacant. Perhaps its subject had gone on to find a more interesting view. Not even the House Elves had been allowed on this level so everything was coated in a thick layer of dust. His footprints left tracks on the floor, but he paid it no mind. He hurried along to where the vault lay in wait. Severus moved into the shadows of a stone column and shortened his quickened breath. He needed to be as still and silent as death.

            In the quiet, the ghosts come to play, to torment the living. Not the friendly ghosts who roamed this castle, but the ones that haunted his mind. Lily.

            He could never forget when he had heard that the Dark Lord had found their home. He hadn’t even sent word to Dumbledore. He’d apparated as soon as he could, but one look at the shattered roof had told him he was too late. Voldemort may have been defeated, but it was too late for Lily. He couldn’t fail her son. It was the only way he could make amends for what he’d done.

            The patter of footsteps tore him away from that horrible night exactly ten years ago. Severus kept his wand ready, but didn’t move when Quirrel finally came into view. It was clear Dumbledore had been right. Quirrel had a spine after all and he was after the stone. His first instinct was to petrify the man, but he knew Dumbledore would say that isn’t enough. He needed to see Quirrel open the door and actually make an attempt on the stone; otherwise he would have proved nothing. Besides, Albus told him to keep an eye on him, not to thwart his plans just yet. Dumbledore had something else in mind for Quirrel.

            So he watched as Quirrel waved his wand without shaking and unlocked the door. It was odd how composed the man was considering he had fainted not ten minutes past. Severus would have to give Dumbledore more credit in reading people. And he had thought he was good at hiding his own thoughts, but Quirrel was certainly clever.

            He waited until Quirrel took two careful steps inside before he left the shelter of the shadows. “Lost, are we?”

            Quirrel sprang up like a cat with his paw in a fish bowl. He whirled around with his eyes wide with guilt.  “Oh, P-Professor Snape,” he stammered, “I-I-I thought y-you were down in the dungeons.”

            “I thought you were still on the floor in the Great Hall, so we are both wrong.”

            “I-I w-wanted to make sure the stone was secure,” Quirrel said.

            “Yes, it occurred to me too that this might have been a ruse to leave the stone unprotected,” Snape said, never once shirking his gaze from him.

            “Surely you don’t think I…” Quirrel took a few steps back, but Snape matched him forward.

            “I think many things, it’s how I learned to never underestimate anyone.”

            The shaking stopped again, a new steely look hardening the man’s face. “I could say the same for you.”

            He could hear Dumbledore’s chuckle in his mind. Yes, this was why the wizard wanted him to watch Quirrel rather than confront him. Now he can’t prove anything, as Quirrel will just say that Snape was the one with his eye on the stone. Worse still, the Ministry knew he had been a Death Eater. They would rather believe the word of a trembling professor than a former servant of the Dark Lord.

            He meant counter that unfortunate truth, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but a rumble sounded through the air. No, it was a growl, a deep menacing growl. Out of the pitch darkness, on large but shockingly quiet feet, came the largest dog Severus had ever seen. It towered over them in the same way Hagrid did to even the seventh years. However, its size was not the most shocking thing about it. Springing from its shoulders like tree branches were three heads. Each head growled at them, baring glistening sharp teeth.

            “Bloody hell,” he whispered just before the dog lunged.

            Quirrel let out a truly fantastic shriek, barely able to leap away in time. Severus tried to utter a curse, but the spell sailed past the dog’s shoulder. It was well enough since he didn’t want the stone to be left unprotected. Quirrel shot past him for the door. Snape hurried after him, but he wasn’t quick enough. One of the heads stretched out its long neck and sank its teeth into his calf. Snape cried out at the sharp pain. His own spell _“Sectumsempra!”_ came out in a shout. The spell struck the dog on the paw, but it was enough. The dog let go of him with a yelp and hurried back into the shadows.

            He didn’t linger on the pain, just scrambled back to his feet and slammed the door behind him. Quirrel was shaking in the corridor, staring at the now closed door in horror. “You—you’re hurt,” he said.

            “Brilliant observation,” Severus hissed out. The wound was bleeding and his trousers were torn, but there was nothing to be done of it now. He would have to go to his dungeons for potions to patch himself up. There was no way he would let Madam Pomfrey see this. She would want to know what happened. He didn’t trust Sister Thornwood either.

            “Clearly the stone is secure,” he said instead, straightening to his full height and ignoring the fiery pain in his leg, “We best return to the dungeons and deal with the troll.”

            “Y-yes, I ag-agree,” Quirrel stammered out.

            They made their way back down to the first level where McGonagall waved them over. “Ah, I was wondering where you two were. We believe the troll has moved up to this level.”

            A large crash and a childish scream proved that she was right. “The girls’ bathroom,” she said, pointing with her wand to lead the way.

            She threw open the door with the wave of her hand, barging in with Snape hot on her heels. Quirrel was a step behind them.

            The scene before them was not at all what Severus could have guessed even with one of Trelawney’s ridiculous crystal balls. A troll lay sprawled out on the floor by what used to be a wall of sinks. His club was lying next to his head that had a considerable lump sprouting from its bald, greasy top. Surrounding the troll was three students, Granger, Weasley, and of course, Potter.

            It shouldn’t have surprised him to find James Potter’s son there. Not only would James have gone charging after a troll, he’d have undoubtedly have been the one to let the creature loose in the castle.

Snape bit back a grimace as he knelt down to inspect the troll, the pain from the bite still fierce. It was out cold, apparently having somehow gotten bashed in by its own club. McGonagall wasted no time in berating the three students. “What on earth were you thinking of? You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory?”

            He would be lying if he said it didn’t enjoy finally seeing a Potter getting the broomstick kicked out from under him.

            Then a thin, tremulous voice said, “Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me.”

            All eyes turned to the girl. McGongall gasped out, “Miss Granger!”

“I went looking for the troll because I— thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I’ve read all about them.”

            That was an incredible foolish thing for her to do and that was nothing like Hermione Granger. Snape eyed all of them, but none of the students were paying much attention to him.

            She continued to describe how the troll came to be lying on the ruined bathroom floor, painting Potter and Weasley with heroic brushstrokes, how they saved her before the troll could get her.

“How could you think about taking a mountain troll on your own?” McGonagall chastised her with a firm shake of her head. "Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

The girl hurried off, thoroughly chastened, but not enough for Severus’s taste. Five points? Surely fifty would have been far more appropriate.

That left only the two boys, but McGonagall had lost the scowl she’d given them before. "Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

            Severus’ jaw nearly dropped to floor? What? They nearly got themselves killed and they get points added to their house? And he was accused of being soft on his own house.

            “Close your mouth Severus before something else finds its way in it,” McGongall said, bringing him back to when he was student and determined to avenge himself against another Potter.

            “You like to award misbehavior?” he sneered at her.

            “I award courage,” Minerva said. She cast her wand towards the troll to stupefy it before it could wake up. “Now, Professor Dumbledore should be told that the troll has been dealt with.”

            Yes and he had his leg to deal with as well. He let McGongall go to tell Dumbledore everything, giving Quirrel another hard look before he hurried off as well. Snape went on to the dungeons to quickly bind up the wound and put healing potion on it. He certainly wasn’t going to the hospital. Madam Pomfrey was a skilled healer but she wasn’t as skilled with secrets. As for Sister Thornwood, he didn’t know her motives and certainly wasn’t keen on letting her in on his own.

            The binding wasn’t perfect, but the potion would heal everything nicely by morning. The excitement was over now. He checked on the Slytherin students, but the prefects had everything under control. He had no interest in finishing the feast so he left the dungeon and made his way up to the headmasters’ quarters.

            Dumbledore was sitting over the pensieve, staring into its murky depths. He’d seen him do this several times, but Severus could never figure out why. Memories were such painful things. It was bad enough when they haunted him in his dreams, why would anyone want to revisit them so frequently?

            “You were right about Quirrel,” he said, limping over to him.

            Dumbledore looked up at him, his face impassive as ever. “He went for the stone?”

            Severus nodded. “He claimed he was checking on it, but I don’t believe him.”

            “Neither do I.” Dumbledore nodded down towards his leg. “You’re hurt?”

            “That damned beast tore a chunk out of my leg,” he replied with a grimace as he took another step towards him, “At least I can attest the stone is well guarded.”

            “In the meantime, yes, but I’ve learned over the years to never have only one obstacle standing in the way of what an enemy wants.” Dumbledore turned away from the pensieve and walked over towards him, “But I’ll leave that for later. How badly are you hurt?”

            “I’ll be fine.”

            “Have you had Madam Pomfrey or Sister Thornwood look at it?”

            “And have them asking why I was bitten by Hagrid’s pet? Certainly not. I am capable of healing it on my own.” He bit back the pain when he shifted it again. “What are you going to do about Quirrel?”

            “Nothing for now.”

            “Nothing?”

            “I have no proof that he was after the stone other than what you saw,” Dumbledore said, moving towards where a tea tray set on a table in front of the fire. “Now, you and I know the truth, but we can’t prove it. For now, you and I will watch him, make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble. We’ll bide our time until we have what we need.”

            “And how long do you think that will take?” Severus asked.

            Dumbledore only chuckled and poured out two cups of tea. “Cheer up, Severus, and look on the bright side.”

            “And that would be?” he asked.

            Dumbledore smiled through the steam coming from his cup. “This is sure to be a very exciting school year.”

* * *

            The story of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley defeating the mountain troll was the talk of Hogwarts in the days that followed. All of the students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff wanted to know the entire story, not a detail left forgotten on the bathroom floor. The Slytherin students were quick to point out that a mountain troll is among the dumbest of creatures on the planet, arguing it was more luck than skill that saved them. Still, Snape ignored it all, or tried to anyways. Seeing Potter surrounded by adoring fans always brought him back to James being just as popular, acting like winning the Quidditch match was equal to defeating Grindelwald with one arm tied behind his back.

            What helped him steer away from the lingering resentment was his leg. For some reason, it wasn’t healing the way it should have. Actually, it wasn’t healing at all. The wound was still swollen and red, oozing clear fluid that did not bode well. He tried every healing potion he knew; yet it had resulted in naught. He’d even gotten Filch’s help in order to see if binding the herbs better would work. It had no effect.

            Between classes now, Severus pouring through his books for something, anything that could heal his leg, while hiding his pain by snapping at the students during his lectures. Most didn’t notice any difference, but Dumbledore had never been like most.

            It didn’t come as much surprise to Severus when Dumbledore walked into his classroom; in fact it was a relief. Perhaps he would know something to help him. Still, he would never admit to such a thing. “What are you doing here?” he asked instead.

            “Well, I wanted to see how you were, but rumor has it you aren’t doing so well on the stairs these days.”

            “I’m fine,” Severus gritted out.

            “Not from what I’ve heard. Filch was very informative on his medical efforts on your behalf.”

            Damn Filch. He had trusted the man to keep his secrets, but Filch was truly only loyal to himself and his cat. Severus gritted his teeth and hissed. “I’m fine. Just a few more healing potions and it will be right again.”

            “Yes, I trust you to find a cure eventually, however, I’d rather have it sooner than that. Which is why I’ve brought in someone who can hopefully get to the bottom of this.”

            “I’m not going to see Pomfrey,” he snapped.

            Dumbledore smiled patiently. “No worries there.”

            The gentle knocking on the door alerted him to their new visitor. Sister Thornwood stood there, alternating looks between the two men before settling on Dumbledore. “Pardon me, but Filch said you needed to see me here. Is something wrong?”

            “Yes, actually, we need your expertise, my dear.” Dumbledore gestured for her to come forward with a grand sweep of his arm. Severus glared at him with his best sneer, but the old wizard didn’t look at him. He finally gave up and looked back at the nurse. She was staring at him now, a slight wrinkle to her brow as she studied him.

            “Is someone ill?”

            “No,” Severus said while Dumbledore said, “Yes.”

            She glanced up at Dumbldore now, clearly believing him. “What’s wrong?”

            “Severus, show her.”

            He gave him a black look but then glowered at her as he did his bidding. There was no escaping this. He rolled up his pant leg to expose the gruesome sight. His leg was an angry red and swollen, purple veins in dark contrast against his skin. The bite itself was black and oozing a clear fluid.

            She let out a gasp. “Elizabeth Frauncis! How long has it been like this?”

            “Three days,” he gritted out.

            “You were bitten by a three-headed dog and you didn’t seek treatment?” she scolded him like he was a student caught outside of curfew.

            “I am a master at potions,” he reminded her, “I can heal myself.”

            “How did you know it was a three-headed dog?” Dumbledore asked instead.

            “Two years ago, Newt Scamander was hosting a Magizoo Exhibition,” she explained as she knelt down at Severus’s feet and gently began probing the tender flesh with her fingertips. “He featured several rather dangerous animals, including a three headed dog. I was beginning my training and was there to monitor in case there were any injuries.”

            She smiled a little and shook her head. “One young wizard ran into the dog’s enclosure on a dare and got a nasty nip. Mr. Scamander showed me the proper way to heal a three-headed dog bite.”

            Sister Thornwood climbed to her feet and immediately went towards his potions cupboard where she disappeared inside. “You see,” her slightly muffled voice came back to them through the open door, “Your leg isn’t technically infected.”

            “I think my leg would beg to differ that,” he growled.

            “No, you don’t understand, it’s not bacteria, it’s venom.”

            “Impossible, the ministry has never specified that.”

            Sister Thornwood came back out with an armful of different jars and boxes. “It’s not well known, but Hagrid actually mentioned it the other day over tea.”

            “Ah, I suppose I should have asked him about it myself,” Dumbledore spoke up at last, “but I must give him my thanks for finding such excellent security.”

            She opened one of the jars and started spooning some of the contents into _his_ silver cauldron. “What were you doing on the third floor anyways?”

            “That is none of your concern,” Severus hissed at her.

            Dumbledore acted with a cooler head. “Yes, I’m afraid that is between me and Professor Snape, but know that he was up there with my full knowledge and consent.”

            “Very well,” she said, going back to her brewing. She crushed a stalk of milkweed and added the juice into the cauldron. “Well, now you know that a three-headed dog is venomous…well only one of the heads is.”

            “One?” Dumbledore repeated curiously.

            “Yes, Mr. Scamander believes it’s usually the first head that strikes. The venom isn’t deadly, but it prevents healing and is rather ineffective against most potions. It’s brilliant really. This way if the prey escapes, it’s not likely to get very far.”

            “Well, I can attest to its potency,” Severus grumbled. To his chagrin, she actually laughed a little. He could see her now working on two separate things. While the cauldron was bubbling lightly pink froth, she was mixing together a green paste in the pestle. She took the pestle and a clean linen cloth and knelt down at his feet again. She dipped the cloth into the sharp smelling paste and gave him an apologetic look.

            “I’m afraid this is going to burn, feel free to scream if you must,” she warned him.

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, “I’m not going to---filthy, fucking son of a goblin!”

            Whatever she’d put on that linen was now burning a hole into his leg. The Dark Lord would have enjoyed this particular torture she had brewed up, that was for certain.

            While he bit his lip so hard he could taste blood, she let out a little laugh again. “That was a new one,” she said.

            “Really, Severus, I had no idea you were capable of such language,” Dumbledore teased him. He shot him mutinous look in response.

            “Oh I’ve heard worse,” Sister Thornwood assured him, “And granddad certainly could swear like robbed goblin when in pain.”

            Dumbledore chuckled, “Too true, my dear.”

            She returned to the cauldron and spooned its contents into a chalice. “The salve will burn away the infection in wound and start to heal it. This potion will cure any lingering venom in your blood. It won’t taste good, but drink all of it, please.”

            He scowled at her and swiped the chalice out of her hands. He didn’t hesitate, draining the goblet quickly. She was right, though; it did taste awful, sour and bitter all at the once. He couldn't help but shudder at the taste, but managed to keep it all down.

            “Excellent,” she complimented and took the now empty chalice. “Your leg should be healed in a day or two, but if it takes longer than that, come see me and I can give you another dose.”

            “Or you could tell me how to make the potion and I can make it myself,” he reminded her. He could probably improve upon it too.

            “Oh, but that would rob me of your presence,” she said, giving him a wink. He grumbled and looked away.

            “He means to say, thank you,” Dumbledore said for him.

            She let out a chuckle. “It’s all right. I’m happy to help. Let me know if Fluffy bites someone else.”

            “Fluffy?” Severus couldn’t help but ask.

            “That’s the dog’s name. Hagrid mentioned it to me over tea.”

            Of course that half-giant would give a monster such an asinine name. Well, at least Dumbledore had called for her help and not his. Hagrid probably would have chewed up some herbs and then spit them onto his inflamed leg.

            “I’ll see you both at dinner,” she said before walking out of the room, leaving only the smell of her perfume behind.

            Severus still wasn’t happy, but the pain in his leg was already beginning to fade. He could admire her skill, but it was becoming rather irksome that she had now bested him twice. If word got around, then he’d lose all credibility among the students, something he could not tolerate.

            “At least now I know why you hired her,” he grumbled to Dumbledore, “You know her.”

            “I think the fact that she just healed your leg of a rather rare venom proves that the fact I know her has very little to do with why I hired her.”

            “Irrelevant,” Severus said through clenched teeth. He limped over to his potions cabinet to put away the vials she had left out. He tried to ignore the fact that he wasn’t limping as bad as he used to, “She can’t possibly have the experience required to make her a viable candidate.”

            “I could have said the same when I hired you, Severus,” Dumbledore reminded him. He slammed the cabinet closed and glared at him. “Besides, she had excellent recommendations, not to mention her family history suggested that healing runs through her veins.”

            “What is that supposed to mean?”

            Dumbledore smiled. “She is a descendent of Helena Beathan.”

            Severus looked up at him for a moment and then shook his head. “Rubbish,” he said, reaching over to sort through a pile of scrolls for the third year essays.

“Rubbish, Severus?”

“You and I both know the laws of magic very well.”

            “Yes, and when you’ve seen as much as I have, you’ll learn to never underestimate anything.”     

            “Death is final,” Severus said firmly. If there had been some way to bring someone back from the dead, he’d have done it in a heartbeat. “You can’t possibly believe that old legend.”

            Dumbledore merely shrug. “I don’t disregard anything, but it’s irrelevant. Helena Beathan was a real person and known to have been a great healer. Ana clearly takes after her.”

            “Even after all of this time, some of your decisions still astound me,” Severus said.            The old wizard merely laughed. “What is life without some whimsy? One day, even you’ll learn to have fun again.”

            “Fun is for children and fools,” he replied. He’d lost all sense of that a very long time ago.

            Dumbledore showed now sign of being insulted. “I’m glad Ana is here. Perhaps she can find another way to help you, Severus.”

            “I highly doubt that. I don’t need any help.”

            “Oh, there I have to disagree, I can think of one or two things you can improve upon.” With that said, Dumbledore gave him a slight nod in farewell and quietly left him alone to his solitude, just the way he preferred it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Snape has to protect Harry during quidditch, and after a period of illness sweeps the school, Snape begins to learn a bit more about Ana Thornwood.


	3. An Unexpected Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape goes head to head with Qurriel again to save Harry during his first Quidditch Match, Harry receives a surprise for Christmas, and Snape begins to remember teaching Ana Thornwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone reading this series. Sorry this chapter took some time, but it's an extra long one!

            Severus was forced to admit by morning that Sister Thornwood knew her trade well. His leg was nearly healed, just a slight tenderness to the now closed wound. He could walk again without a limp, a boost to his dignity he welcomed, especially today. It was the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match when all eyes would be on the biggest rivalry of the four houses of Hogwarts. He’d had an ongoing feud with McGonagall over the winner of the Quidditch Cup. So far Slytherin had managed to win more often than lose. Last year had been particularly delicious when Slytherin had defeated Gryffindor handily in the match.

            Still, this time he wasn’t so certain of victory. Two of Slytherin’s best players had graduated and while Gryffindor had lost their seeker, they’d gained a new one in Potter who had the fastest broom in the world. It was going to be just like back in school, miserable all over again while Potter wowed the idiots with his skill. It was made all the worse by the ridiculous Potter For President banner the Gryffindors had put up. Had they forgotten they were in England and not America? Why not just crown the boy king then?

            He took his seats in the stands with the other professors. Everyone was bundled up from the cold, though some braziers gave off some much desired warmth to help combat the wind. Down below, he could see Madam Hooch speaking with the team captains before both teams officially left the lockers. Off to the side was Sister Thornwood, wearing a dark blue cloak over her nursing uniform. If there were any doubts as to her loyalty, they were diminished by the yellow and black Hufflepuff scarf around her neck.

            The teams finally made their way out onto the field. Hooch gave out her final instructions before ordering them to mount their brooms. Hooch blew her whistle and the game was off. Lee Jordan was doing the commentary of the game, rather unfair due to his loyalties to Gryffindor. McGonagall was having a devil of time to keep him from adding his colorful embellishments to the game.

            So far Potter had done nothing but hover above the game watching. In that regard, he was nothing like his father. James was unable to keep still for a moment, constantly pushing himself into the thick of the action. However, that changed when the snitch was finally released. Potter zoomed into the game just as Higgs spotted the snitch as well. They both reached out for it, with Potter almost having it in reach, then WHAM! Marcus Flint whisked in to cut Potter off. It resulted in a penalty, but Severus did enjoy watching Potter sailing off course, holding on like a toddler on his training broom.

            The game continued after the penalty. It was getting to be a rather dull affair in his opinion. What possessed people to invest so much into such a ridiculous game was beyond him. Up above, Potter suddenly lurched in the sky. At first, Severus thought he was just getting a false start in his quest for the snitch. Then it happened again, the broom seeming lift up under Potter, nearly pushing him off.

            Severus leaned forward, staring at the situation hard. There was another buck from the broom and he knew it wasn’t anything Potter had done. The boy was starting to look scared. Through the noise of the crowd, he came upon another sound. A rhythmic chant just a row a bit behind him.

            Quirrel.

            He was cursing the boy, trying to force the broom to throw him off and to the ground. Lily’s son.

            There was no thought of what to do. He immediately began to chant, using the power of his words to steady the broom. He could feel his magic reaching out to steady the broom, but Quirrel’s power fought back. Potter was jerked back and forth, then somersaulting through the air. The rest of the crowd finally noticed when he rolled off of his broom.

            For one horrifying moment, Severus thought he had failed. That promise he made to Lily, the only way to rid him of his guilt and ease the pain of her loss, nearly crumbled to ground like a baby bird shoved from the nest too soon. However, Harry was quick, grabbing hold of the broom with one hand.

            Severus chanted harder, faster, his face red and sweat rolling down from his hairline. He wouldn’t fail. He couldn’t. Lily Potter’s son would live. He would do whatever it took to make sure of that.

            The Weasley twins flew over to help, reaching out to try and get him onto one of their brooms, yet when they did, Potter’s broom lurched away hard. Severus balled his hands into fists and chanted harder. _Live, Harry, you will live_ , he thought, _Lily will not die in vain. I will not let you die!_

            He heard someone let out a shout and a flash of something purple out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t pay it any mind. His focus was on Harry who appeared to be steadying his broom some. He felt a slight heat at his foot and looked down. Blue flames were inching up his robes. He let out an undignified yelp. He reached for his wand to douse them out with a spell, but the flames vanished before he had a chance. Was it a trick by Quirrel?

            Severus snapped his gaze back to Potter, but the boy was gone. His heart stopped. Then there was whoosh of scarlet robes just before the crowd. Everyone let out another gasp before the player slowed down enough for all of them to see. It was Potter, clutching at his mouth. Had he knocked his teeth out?

            Potter sped towards the ground, collapsing on all fours. He let out a cough and something gold plopped into his hands. He held it up in one fist. “I’ve got the snitch!”

            The game was over in a sounding defeat for Slytherin, but Severus didn’t care all that much. He would later when Minerva lorded it over him, but for now it was a relief to know he hadn’t failed Lily. Not again.

            Dumbledore had been away dealing with the Ministry, but had said he’d be back before the match was over. Severus didn’t linger in the aftermath of the victory celebrations for Gryffindor. He went straight back to the castle and raced up the stairs to the headmaster’s office. Dumbledore was in, thank Merlin. The older wizard was looking at a roll of parchment, probably some new law Fudge wanted his opinion, when Severus rushed in.

            “What’s happened?” Dumbledore asked. There was no doubt that it was serious.

            “He tried to kill Potter,” Severus told him, “During the match, Quirrel tried to jinx him off of his broom.”

            The only show of surprise on Dumbledore’s face was slight widening of his eyes. “I presume you used a counter curse.”

            Severus nodded. “It was strange. Quirrel is…weak yet it took everything I had to keep the curse from taking effect. I had no idea he was capable of such dark magic.”

            Dumbledore walked over to feed Fawkes a few pellets of food. “Strange indeed.”

            “Do you have a theory?”

            “I do.”

            “But you’re not going to tell me.”

            Dumbledore stroked the red feathers at the bird’s throat. “No.”

            Severus let out a grunt of irritation and rolled his eyes. “Of course not. That would be the sensible thing.”

            Dumbledore chuckled and gave him an amused look from over his shoulder. “Severus, you don’t have to take it personal.”

            “That fact that you don’t trust me? How else am I supposed to take it?”

            The twinkle in his blue eyes faded and he turned all the way around to face him again. “Severus, I think by now you know better than that. I would trust you with my life.”

            He didn’t need legilimancy to know he was telling the truth. Eleven years of planning and preparing together had created a bond that could not easily be broken. “Then why won’t you tell me?”

            “Because I’m not certain myself,” Dumbledore said casually, “I don’t want to cause you or anyone else alarm over something that may not be true.”

            “That doesn’t give me much reason not to be concerned,” Severus pointed out.

            “Perhaps, but give me my secrets, I won’t burden others with them until I feel it is time.”

            There was no sense in arguing with him, that much was very clear. Dumbledore was not easily moved, not when he had his armor on. Despite all of his own skill, Severus knew there was no use trying to pry anything to the surface. It wasn’t fair, but his only choice was to trust that he knew what he was doing. He hadn’t failed yet.

            “What shall we do then?” Severus asked.

            “Keep your eye on Quirrel. I don’t think he’ll try to hurt Harry again, not anytime soon, but I’m not willing to take that risk.”

            “Nor am I,” Severus said, “I’ll referee the next Gryffindor quidditch match.”

            “Excellent idea, and I’ll do my best to make sure I will be in attendance. He won’t try anything with both of us on to him.”

            “No doubt you’re right,” Severus agreed. Quirrel already knew he was watching him, but now he would know Dumbledore was wise to his game. “It’s still strange. I never would have guessed Quirrel had the courage to do anything like this.”

            Dumbledore turned back to Fawks who let out a trill of delight as he stroked his feathers again. “I think Quirrel will surprise us more this year, Severus. We are seeing a new side to the man.”

            “You’re being cryptic again.”

            Dumbledore chuckled, flashing him a warm smile. “Perhaps, but you always were a clever one, Severus. I wonder if you’ll figure it all out soon enough.”

            He would certainly try, but there were still things about Dumbledore he didn’t know. He doubted he would discover this truth until Dumbledore wished it, if he ever did.

* * *

           It was nearly Christmas holiday which meant the castle was now covered in snow, making the dungeon about as warm as an igloo. Still, he didn’t complain. He could handle the cold, even thrived in it. His least favorite time of the year was summer, when the heat became sweltering and oppressive, the people red and dripping in sweat. Better the winter, when warmth could more easily be found over a bubbling cauldron.

            The only unpleasant thing about the winter was the holiday. Christmas had never been a cheerful time for him. His father, though deeply religious, had no interest in celebrating the holidays with his “unnatural” wife and son. Christmas had always been a tense affair while his mother tried to please her husband by appealing to his faith, which always led to another battering, and he hid in his room. Staying at Hogwarts over the holidays had been a relief.

            Now that he was adult, he still stayed at Hogwarts though he resented the buzz of excitement that permeated the entire place. This was the time of year when the students slacked off on their work even more and threw snowballs at anyone who happened to make the mistake of walking past the courtyard. Worse still, the castle was decorated in every nook, cranny, gargoyle, and stone knight, with greenery and holly. It was appalling.

            The only bright spot was the fact that mischief was so common that it was easy to spot the miscreants and watch their faces drop when they lost House points before the holidays began. One such moment appeared just as he was coming to the top of the stairs. The youngest Weasley boy lunged for Draco Malfoy, clearly ready to scratch out his eyes or pummel his nose into the back of his skull for some offense.

            “WEASLEY!” he shouted. The boy immediately dropped the front of Malfoy’s robes.

            “He was provoked, Professor Snape.” Severus hadn’t even realized Hagrid was there until he spoke. He stuck his hairy face out from the massive tree he carried to appeal to him on the boy’s behalf. “Malfoy was insultin’ his family.”

            Severus believed him. Truth be told, he had no love for the Malfoy boy, but Dumbledore wanted him to remain close to him and this was a prime example. Besides, Potter and his friends were always getting away with rule breaking. This was a prime time to set the record straight.  “Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,” he replied smoothly, “Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Now move along all of you.”

            He swept past them all into the great hall. Malfoy and his cohorts walked behind him with smug looks on their faces. The others lingered back with Hagrid and his massive Christmas tree. The hall was beginning to resemble a forest more than a gathering place. Eleven large trees decorated the place, covered in ornaments, icicles and enchanted candles that changed colors. Holly and mistletoe hung on every window and archway. Severus sneered at it all. One year his mother had tried decorating like this, only to find his father ripping everything down, insisting that they had no right to celebrate such an occasion that was meant only for Muggles. Seeing all of this just reminded him of his mother’s tears and his father’s fists.

            Professor Flitwick was sending brightly colored ornaments from his wand up to one of the trees while Professor McGonagall was fixing garland to the staff table. Must they all eat off of greenery?

            He was scowling at the sight and didn’t see he had wandered a bit too close to one of the trees, his shoulder brushing against something hard. “Oh! Careful!” someone up high urged him brightly.

            He looked up the very tall ladder to see it was Sister Thornwood perched at the top. She appeared to be adjusting a very large star at the top of the tree. She smiled down at him “Sorry, but I’d hate to drop this on you.”

            “See that you don’t,” he insisted, “Why are you up there anyways?”

            “Oh, Peeves, keeps making the star crooked.” She leaned back and stuck her hands on her hips to give it one last critical eye, then started making her way down the ladder. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t move on other than the sense that she wasn’t done with him yet.

            “What do you think?” she asked him. It took him a moment to realize she was actually expecting an answer.

            “Too much green,” he said, hoping she’d get the hint.

            “Hmm,” she mused, pursing her lips and squinting, “I think you have a point.” She lifted her wand and gave it a quick wave. Bright red ribbon burst out of the end of her wand and started to wind its way around the tree. She smiled once it finally settled. “There. Much better, thank you professor.”

            “That wasn’t precisely what I meant,” he said with a sniff.

            There was a shout from by the staff table and then McGonagall let out an indignant, “PEEVES!”

            The poltergeist and stolen all of the mistletoe and was now flying about the room, cackling with delight. As he zoomed overhead, he stopped long enough to put one spring of mistletoe over the ladder that Severus and Sister Thornwood were standing under. The wretched sprite stared right at Snape and made several kissing sounds before he zipped away out of the Great Hall.

            They both looked up at the mistletoe now perfectly poised above them. It appeared the rest of the hall had noticed it as well because the whole cavernous room became utterly silent.

            He was going to murder that poltergeist.

            “Well,” Thornwood spoke first, clearing her throat, “It’s tradition.”

            He could hear a few titters of laughter over his shoulder. Death was too good for the pest. He would petrify him and cover him in shrake spines. Sister Thornwood was smiling at him again and…well he didn’t know what to think on it. Still, he wasn’t about to give the students a show.

            “Luckily for you, I’m not particularly traditional,” he said and turned away from her. His intention was to find to speak with McGonagall about the plans for protecting the stone, but now he had no desire to be in this hall for another moment.

            “Happy Christmas, Professor Snape,” he heard Thornwood say.

            He paused in his retreat for a moment, a sudden desire to turn around and say…he honestly didn’t know, but whatever it was, he wouldn’t do it. Instead, he marched away, letting the gossip and Christmas hang itself.

* * *

         For the first time in years, Harry was actually looking forward to Christmas morning. Not because he expected to get any presents, but knowing he wasn’t with the Dursleys was a present in and of itself. However, he was also sure to get wonderful food and games with the other students who had stayed behind for the holidays. Still, when he went to bed that night, he couldn’t help but feel just a twinge of jealousy that Ron and the others would get to open presents from their families come morning. He remembered ten years of watching Dudley getting piles and piles of presents and wondered what Christmas would have been like if his parents hadn’t died. It wasn’t worth thinking about since he couldn’t possibly know one way or the other. He didn’t really know who they were.

            He woke up in the morning thinking of breakfast, but all of that changed when foot brushed against something at the end of his bed, crackling in the still quiet morning. Several wrapped parcels were nestled there. He rubbed his eyes twice, certain he was seeing things wrong, but they were still there.

            “Merry Christmas,” Ron said, still groggy from sleep. His red hair was almost as messy as Harry’s.

            “You too,” Harry said, “Will you look at this? I’ve got presents!”

            Ron gave him an odd look but grinned. “What did you expect, turnips?” To be honest, getting a turnip from the Durselys would have been a good present from them. Ron went to his own pile, which was larger than Harry’s, but he didn’t care. He was quite happy with his own pile, small as it was.

            The first parcel was from Hagrid, a knobby wooden flute that he must have carved himself. While it wasn’t much to look at it, it sounded like an owl when he blew into it, a sound that warmed him, reminding him Hagrid’s first gift to him.

            The second parcel was the smallest and contained a note _. “We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.”_ Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece. Perhaps not having him around had warmed them to him just a bit, he mused.

            Ron enjoyed the coin so much, marveling over its shape and the engravings etched on the piece, that Harry let him have it. He had a feeling Mr. Weasley would be examining it closely this summer as well.

            “Who sent me these?” Harry asked, pointing to the rest of the presents.

            “I know who sent you that.” Ron pointed to a lumpy package, his face pinkening, “My mom. I told her you weren’t expecting any presents and—oh no. She’s sent you a Weasley sweater.”

            Harry tore open the paper to find a very thick, wooly green sweater and box of fudge. Ron also had a sweater, but maroon with a large R stitched onto it. The fact that Mrs. Weasley, who he had only met for a few moments, had spent the time to knit him a sweater and make him fudge was enough to almost make him forget about his other presents. If this was all he ever received, he would never want for anything else.

            However, he did have other packages to open. Hermione had given him a box of Chocolate Frogs that he knew he’d share with Ron later. There were two more presents as well. Harry picked up a square, flat package wrapped in bright red paper. There was a note attached to it, penned in sweeping cursives.

              _Merry Christmas Harry, I hope this is a special day for you, and the first of many you can enjoy. Seeing you again is the best present I have ever received—a Friend._

            Harry puzzled over the note, trying to think of who could have left him this. It couldn’t be Hagrid, his handwriting was too messy and he already had a present from him. Seeing him again? He hadn’t met anyone at Hogwarts before he came here.

            “What is that?” Ron asked him? Wordlessly, Harry passed him the note to read. “Hmm, maybe you have a secret admirer?” Ron guessed.

            “I don’t think so.” Somehow, a secret admirer seemed stranger than some old friend he couldn’t remember.

            “Well open it. See what you got.”

            The paper was neatly wrapped, crisp lines and evenly spaced. He couldn’t help but carefully unwrap it, unlike his other presents. Inside was a picture…sort of. It wasn’t like any photograph he’d seen. The image was made out of thread, laid out in little X’s until they formed the image of a Golden Snitch. There were goal hoops in the background and tiny players flying back in forth, however, the Snitch made up the foreground and fluttered cheerily before his eyes.

            “Wow,” Harry said, marveling at the sight. It almost looked like he could reach out and pluck the Snitch from the picture. “This is great.” He looked back at Ron and asked, “Do you think your mom made this?”

            “No way,” Ron said with a shake of his head, “I’ve never seen her do anything like that. She only knits.”

            “Then who sent this?”

            “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, but then pointed to the final present, “Maybe they sent that one as well.”

            What was inside the last present made Harry forget all about the Quidditch picture. It was something soft, and silvery, and Ron gasped when he saw it.

            “I’ve heard of those,” he said, dropping his box of Every Flavor Beans, “If that’s what I think it is—they’re really rare and really valuable.”

            “What is it?”

            “It’s an invisibility cloak,” Ron said, his face full of awe, “I’m sure of it. Try it on!”

            Harry felt the odd texture of the cloak, almost like water rather than cloth, but did as Ron urged. “It is! Look down!”

            He looked and saw his feet and body had completely disappeared. There wasn’t a trace of them in sight, though he could still feel the floor beneath his bare feet, even the folds of the cloak around his arms and legs.

            “There’s a note!” Ron cried, pointing to a piece of paper on the floor, “A note fell out of it!”

            Harry pulled off the cloak and snatched up the letter. He was eager to see who had sent this marvelous present to him, but was disappointed yet again.

_Your father left this in my possession. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well—A very Merry Christmas to you._

            Harry held the note in one hand and fingered the cloak with the other. It had been his father’s. Whoever had given this to him had known his father well enough to borrow this rare item. He wondered over all of this as the others came in. Fred and George rushed in, wearing sweaters as well, and swiping some of their candy. But Harry didn’t mind. He looked at the Snitch picture and the invisibility cloak. Two presents from two different people, and he was sure they were different since the notes had different handwriting. Each had known him, or at least his parents. Yet, they remained a mystery to him.

            He might have contemplated it all some more, but breakfast called for them all. In all of the revelry, he quite forgot about his two mysterious benefactors and what their notes said. He was in the company of friends, and on a day like Christmas, that was all he really needed.

* * *

          The moment Severus awoke he knew something was off. There was a dull ache right between his eyes and the room was bitterly cold despite the fact that there was a fire going that should have comfortably warmed the room. He groaned and rubbed at his hair while he sat up. It felt like the world was slightly tilted, but that couldn’t be right. He shook his head but the cobwebs were firmly lodged there.

            Well he couldn’t possibly be sick. While he was no healer, Severus knew his potions well and made it a habit to drink a special health booster that kept him in perfect health. He rarely suffered from the colds and plagues others picked up. One good goblet would perk him right up.

            It did get him through breakfast, but by midmorning a dreadful cough had started. The whole castle felt like it was made of ice. It may have been January, but he’d never been this cold before. His head was throbbing too, like someone was beating a mallet against the inside of his skull. His first class was absolutely miserable. Fred and George Weasley were present and being obnoxiously loud. He longed to use a silencing charm on them, or perhaps just petrify them for an hour. He snapped at all of them until they cowered at him in terror. For once, even the twins looked dutifully frightened.

            Tea would help and perhaps another dose of his potion. His next class wasn’t for another hour so he headed to the staffroom, walking like he was swimming through syrup. Perhaps he should brew up a headache draught as well. The coughing had graduated to a wheeze and he had to stop to catch his breath. Had the castle grown larger?

            “Professor?”

            “What?” he barked out. Every sound felt like a sledgehammer.

            “Well good morning to you too,” Sister Thornwood said. She walked up to him with that same smile as always on her lips. How did she stay so cheerful? It just wasn’t natural. He scowled at her in response just before another wracking cough had him doubling over again.

            “Oh my, that sounds terrible,” she said.

            “I’m fine,” he insisted, “Just having a bad morning.”

            “I disagree.” She reached over to press one hand to his forehead. He batted it away as soon as he could, but she still managed to feel his skin. “You’re burning up, Professor.”

            “No, this castle is just cold. It’s winter.”

            “Actually it’s quite warm. You have a fever.”

            “I’m fine. I take a good immunizing potion every day,” he assured her, but she was already rifling through the pocket of her apron and pulling out a plain white tube.

            “Put this in your mouth for a minute,” she said.

            “No.”

            Most would run away from him at just the force of that one word, but his powers had no affect on her. “Can you say that one more time?”

            “No you—ack!” He let out a squawk as she forced the fever stick into his mouth. “If you ever do that again—!” he hissed at her once she pulled it out.

            “Ah, just as I thought,” she said looking as the stick turned bright red, “You have a very high fever, Professor Snape. Judging by the way your skin is turning red around your neck, my guess would Phoenix Flu.”

            “I’m not sick!” he shouted, but the coughing fit that struck him right after sort of dampened the power of his words.

            “I’m afraid you are. The Flu has been going around these past few days, starting with poor Neville. He must have caught it over break. I’m sorry to say, but it’s worse in adults.”

            “I can’t be sick. I have a potion that counteracts most illnesses.”

            “Well Phoenix Flu, though not deadly, is rather resistant to most potions, that’s why it’s so difficult to prevent,” she said as she took his arm. “Come on, you better come with me to the hospital.”

            “I’m not going to the hospital, I have a class to teach.”

            “I can’t have you infecting the rest of the students,” she insisted.

            “I’m not infecting anyone. It’s Longbottom that’s the problem.”

            She chuckled a little. “That may be true, but I’m afraid you can’t stay here.”

            “I won’t go to the hospital, especially not when students are there.”

            “Afraid they’ll realize you’re human like the rest of us?” she teased.

            “You mock me, but yes.”

            “Very well then,” she replied, pulling his arm so he was forced to turn around with her. He thought she was bringing him back to his classroom, but that ended when she tugged him right past the door and led him to the staircase.

            “Where are we going? I have a class to teach.”

            “Not today you don’t,” she said.

            “Are you always this demanding?” he asked. How could someone so small be so domineering? It was his job to intimidate people, damn it!”

            “Only to my patients who refuse to listen,” she said, pulling him up the stairs. For once, he actually had to hold on to the railing with his free hand or risk tripping over his own feet. Filch came upon them, carrying a ratty old broom that looked like it had been set on fire at some point. “Oh, Mr. Filch, can you tell the headmaster that Professor Snape has become ill and alert Madam Pomfrey that I’ll be tending to him in his room?”

            “I’m the caretaker, not a postal owl,” the grubby old man snapped at her.

            “Please?” she begged, giving him a pretty smile, “I’ll be sure to give Mrs. Norris more of those treats she likes.”

            He grunted as assent, changing direction and tromping back up the stairs. Despite his age, Filch got ahead of him since Sister Thornwood had to pull Severus up most of the way. It was entirely undignified, but thankfully most of the students were in classes so few saw him being dragged around by the short nurse. His brain was getting foggier by the minute.

            At last, she steered him towards the staff’s dormitories, accessing with the password so the statue bowed before them before sliding aside to let them pass. “Which one is your room?” she asked.

            “Third on the right, now let me go. I can get there myself.” But once he shook her arm free, he found himself falling up against the wall, hardly able to stand. When she took his arm again, he gave her a mutinous look.

            “Now, now, it’s hardly my fault that you’re ill,” she said. She kept a hold of his arm while she fished her wand out of her apron and used a spell to unlock the door. She didn’t let him go when they walked inside, instead guiding him over to his bed and helping him sit down. “There we go. Now let me get you comfortable.”

            She dropped down to her knees and tugged off his boots. “Stop treating me like an invalid,” he hissed at her.

            “I’m afraid you are an invalid at the moment, Professor.”

            “I am not!”

            “Oh hush, you’re as grumpy as a garden gnome in a rosebush.”

            He growled at her remark, but his head hurt too much for him to think of a proper reply. Once his shoes were off, she stood up again and took a hold of his wrists. “Just give me that potion over there,” he pointed with his other hand, “I just need another dose.”

            “I say, Professor, you have to be the most troublesome patient I’ve ever had,” Sister Thornwood scolded him, “And I’ve dealt with the Russian Quidditch team. You should have seen them trying to hide from needles.”

            Suddenly she moved to his chest and started unbuttoning his shirt. He tried to pull away form her, but the fog in his head made him too slow. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

            “Getting you undressed.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I’m trying to seduce you,” she said casually, still unbuttoning his shirt.

            “Why on earth would you be trying to do that?”

            “Really, Professor, you’re too hard on yourself.” She pulled off his black shirt and tossed it on a nearby chair. Then unbuttoned his undershirt. “Arms up,” she insisted, pulling them up herself when he refused before she yanked that last bit of protection away.

            “Hmm,” she mused, staring down at his bare chest. “Your rash is spreading.” One look at his chest told him that there was no point in denying it any longer. The red patches were covering most of his torso now. “I’m going to murder that Longbottom,” he growled.

            “Come now, it wasn’t intentional,” she said, getting to her knees again.

            “I’ll string him up by his ears.”

            “I’m sure Filch can help you with that.” She reached for the buttons of his pants. He was too weak to stop her now as she pulled those off too, leaving him in nothing but his undergarments. “Ha!” she cried, smiling again, “Patricia owes me ten knuts!”

            “What are you talking about?” he asked. Who the hell was Patricia?

            “Sixth year, Patricia Pevensie and I were bored in Astrology. We started wondering what all of the professors wore beneath their robes.”

            “You what?” he asked, but she paid his question no mind.

            “I bet that you wore boxers, but she insisted you were so uptight that you had to wear briefs.”

            The fever must have cooked his brain because he couldn’t possibly be hearing her right. “You bet on my undergarments?”

            “Mmhm,” she nodded, “but we could never find out. None of our spells to vanish away your trousers ever worked.”

            “WHAT!”

            Sister Thornwood let out a laugh, and apparently she wasn’t the only one who found this humiliation amusing. From the door there was a hearty chuckle and they both saw the Dumbledore had obviously received her message.

            “Severus, it sounds like you’re cured already,” Albus said, his eyes still sparkling with mirth.

            “Get her away from me,” he begged.

            “I think not. Frankly, I'm surprised she managed to convince you to get to bed at all. For that alone, she’s worth her salary and more.”

            “Why thank you,” she beamed. She flicked her wand and a large basket full of tonics and potions appeared. Sister Thornwood dug around until she pulled out a little metal pot. She released the lid and the smell of green plants and bitterroot filled the air. “This might feel a little cold,” she warned him, dipping two fingers into the ointment and then spreading it all over his chest and neck.

            “Albus,” Severus begged the headmaster again.

            “I’m surprised at you, my boy. Most young men would be thrilled to have such a lovely lady tending to them when they are ill.”

            “Perhaps Professor Snape doesn’t think me so lovely,” she said, putting the lid back on a pulling out a small vial. “Drink this.”

            “What is it?”

            “Something to help the fever and put you to sleep,” she said, “I wouldn’t dream of poisoning my favorite teacher.”

            “You’re a little liar,” he said, but took the vial and gulped it down.

            “No need to be mean, Severus,” Dumbledore chided him gently.

            “I’m always mean,” he reminded him.

            “It’s part of your charm,” Sister Thornwood said. She’d found one of his nightshirts and was now helping to slip it over his head.

            Dumbledore chuckled again and shook his head. “Well I see you’re in excellent hands, Severus. I’ll leave you to rest. I’m sure your students will be happy to know that Potions will be cancelled for a few days.”

            Just before the old wizard turned away, Severus sat up. “Quirrell,” he reminded him.

            “Don’t worry, I can take up that responsibility. You get well,” Dumbledore assured him. He gave Sister Thornwood a slight bow. “Good luck, Miss Thornwood.”

            “I do believe I’ll need it,” she teased back. Once the door close, she looked back at Severus with a puzzled brow. “What about Professor Quirrell?”

            “None of your business,” he told her, “You’re far too nosy.”

            “So I’ve been told,” she said, gently pushing him down so he lay back onto the bed.

            “And pretty.”

            “I’m sorry?”

            “You’re far too pretty. It’s irritating,” he told her. The medicine she gave him was clouding up the last clear portions of his mind. His tongue was loosening up, saying things he would certainly never do on a normal basis, yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

            “Oh, well I apologize for that then. I’ll try to be less pretty in the future.”

            “You’re teasing me. You can’t be less. Less would be wrong.”

            “I think there is a compliment in there, so thank you.” He felt her cool hand gently sweep the hair off of his sweaty brow. “Go to sleep, Severus. You’ll feel better for it.”

            “Idontneedsleep,” he huffed out, yet sleep took him before he could put up a fight.

            His dreams found him quickly. He was in his classroom, putting a list of ingredients on the board for the students to copy down. He heard someone let out a giggle. Snape turned around to bark at them to remain silent, but gasped out, “Lily?”

            She was sitting on the fourth seat to the right on the front row, but she wasn’t the young woman the last time he’d seen her. She was a girl again, her bright red hair shining in the candlelight. She smiled back at him, waiting to continue the lesson. But this wasn’t right. He wasn’t her teacher. They used to sit together in Potions during their first year. Why was she a student again and not he?

            “Lily?” he asked again, “Lily, how are you here?”

            “Professor Snape?” she asked. Her green eyes peered at him with confusion. “Aren’t you going to tell us how to make Tincture of Joy?”

            This wasn’t right. He had wanted Lily back, but not a child. He looked away, trying to sort out what was going on. There were so many things he needed to say to her, but couldn’t find the words.

            “Professor?”

            He looked back at her, but Lily was gone. A new girl had taken her place, sitting in the same seat. This time she had blonde hair that fell down her back in a wild curtain of curls. She blinked up at him with wide hazel eyes looking at him in concern. “Are you sick, Professor Snape?”

            “What? No, no I’m fine, who are you again?”

            “It’s me, Ana.”

            “Right, yes, back to the lesson.” There were more students now, but he couldn’t make out any of them except for Ana. She eagerly started mixing the ingredients in her cauldron, watching them blend together and release a cloud of pale blue smoke. “Is this right?”

            “Yes, you made it perfectly. I’m surprised a Hufflepuff managed to do that.”

            He looked up at her again, but she wasn’t so little anymore. Now she had blossomed into a teenager, yet she still had that same smile and sat in the same place Lily had sat. “Professor Snape, you said that willowbark is best for potions to cure infections, but wouldn’t using ground black toadstools be even more effective?”

            “They would if they weren’t poisonous.”

            “But the hypodrop nectar would counteract any poison in the toadstools as well as prevent swelling. Couldn’t you create a potion using both?”

            “I suppose, though I certainly wouldn’t want a fourth year Hufflepuff trying to brew it.”

            She smiled at him, refusing to bend despite his bard. “I’ll shall have to prove you wrong then.”

            “I doubt you can,” he said, turning back to the board. When he looked back, she had grown even more. Now almost a woman, but still was sitting primly in Lily’s old seat. She raised her hand when none of the other faceless students dared to. “Professor, what do you smell with the Amortentia?”

            “Why do you want to know?” he asked.

            “I’m just curious. You said it is different for each person.”

            “It doesn’t matter how it affects me. We aren’t going to brew that anyways. It’s far too dangerous.”

            “I would hardly call a love potion dangerous.”

            “In the hands of randy teenagers? I would qualify that as highly dangerous. I’m certain you already have one boy you would like to use such a potion on.”

            Ana shook her head. “No, I think a love potion sounds sad. It’s not real love, just an illusion. Those who feel they need one clearly don’t know how empty such a false love would be.”

            “I doubt a girl your age would care about such a thing,” he said, moving down to his desk and taking a seat. Now they were in the Great Hall and thunderous applause sounded before them. Dumbledore was handing out certificates to each student as they came forward. Ana walked towards Severus wearing bright yellow Hufflepuff robes with black trim. “I’ll miss you, Professor Snape.”

            “I doubt that,” he told her, “Lying doesn’t become you.”

            “Still don’t believe me? That’s a shame. Perhaps one day you’ll change your mind.” She smiled at him again and he watched her walk down the aisle of students, heading towards the boats that would ferry her out of Hogwarts one last time.

            He could still hear the clapping and the sound of her laughter when he opened his eyes. Sunlight was streaming through his the window of his room, the plain white curtains having been pulled back though he didn’t recall doing that. His mouth was dry, but at least his head wasn’t pounding or fogged up anymore. The door to his room opened on its own and there was a cheerful hum that came through with it.

            Sister Thornwood was carrying a tray as she waltzed into his room like he’d handed her an engraved invitation to invade his privacy on a regular basis. She smiled at him and said, “Oh, you’re finally awake. Are you feeling any better?”

            “A bit,” he admitted, “What are you doing?”

            “Bringing you some soup. I thought you might be hungry. You slept all day yesterday.”

            “I did?”

            “Oh yes. Don’t worry; it’s very common. The students usually recover in a day, but I think you might need another day or so before you’re back to your regular routine. Like I said, Phoenix Flu is harder on adults.”

            The tray had a large bowl of soup, a dish of apples baked in cinnamon, and a large glass of pumpkin juice. “I hate pumpkin juice,” he told her.

            “Sorry, but it is rich in vitamins that will help with the Flu, so drink all of it.”

            He gave her a scathing look, picking up his spoon instead to sample the soup. At least it was good and still piping hot. He ate most of it and all of the apples before he realized she was staring at him the way a mother would after catching her child hiding the broccoli in his napkin.

            “What?” he asked.

            “The juice,” she insisted.

            “Get me something else.”

            “No, drink it.”

            “I am a professor here,” he reminded her.

            “And I am a healer and right now you are my patient. Drink it.”

            “I don’t have to do what you say,” he said. Severus Snape did not take orders, he gave them and they were always obeyed promptly.

            “Oh really?” she questioned, “Right now you have the strength of a flobberworm. I can do this the hard way, subduing you with a freezing charm and pouring the juice down your throat, but I’ve only ever had to do that with children. I thought a grown man would have the maturity to listen to me. However, if you insist…” She reached for the wand hidden in the pocket of her apron.

            He seriously considered calling her bluff, but the steely look in her eye gave him the impression that it simply wouldn’t be worth the risk. If word got around that he’d had to be forced to drink pumpkin juice none of the students would ever respect him again.

            Severus picked up the glass and choked down a swallow of the overly sweet beverage, scowling all the while at the impudent nurse. She smiled at him when he finally finished the glass. “Thank you. Now would be so kind as to take off your nightshirt? I want to see how your rash is coming along.”

            He tore it off and threw it at her for good measure. “Tsk tsk, no need to be rude,” she scolded him before tossing the shirt into the basket reserved for the laundry. The red patches on his chest were mostly gone, leaving dry, flaky skin in its wake. She took out the ointment again and began to spread it on the dry spots.

            “I can tell your fever is broken,” she said after capping the jar. “Still, let me be certain.” She popped the fever stick into his mouth before he could say a word of protest again. This time when she pulled it out it was light blue in color. “Yep, your fever is gone. I think one more dose and a good night’s sleep should do it.”

            He glared at her when she handed him the vial again. “Are you going to tell me what’s in it this time?”

            “Nothing harmful, the primary ingredient is Star Grass, not easy to come by which is why this Flu is combative against usual potions.”

            “Well, at least I wasn’t brought down low by a common cold,” he said, draining the vial and handing it back to her.

            “I doubt that Professor Severus Snape could ever be stopped by a cold,” she teased, “Get some more rest. You’ll be better in the morning.”

            He thought she’d leave, but instead he saw her curl up in the chair beside his bed, pulling a book out of her basket. For a moment he wondered if maybe she’d done the same the night before, but that was preposterous. Still, amidst the dreams, he thought he could remember someone whispering to him and wiping his brow with a cool cloth. No, must have been his imagination or just another part of that strange dream.

* * *

          After another potion induced sleep, Severus woke up to find he was alone. The chair Sister Thornwood has sat in was pushed back up against the wall. There wasn’t even the lingering smell of her perfume to tell him that she had been there. He might have thought it had all been a dream had he not found a note beside his usual health potion that read _: Please inform me about the ingredients to this. I hope you are feeling better—Ana._

            He dressed and went down to breakfast, fully planning on informing her that she could not profit from his own concoction, but she was not at the staff table like he had expected. She was nowhere in sight.

            “Ah, Severus, glad to see you up and about again,” Dumbledore said, “Sister Thornwood thought you might be well enough to join us today. I'm sure the students will be delighted to have you back.”

            “I wouldn’t bet on that,” Severus replied. His plate filled instantly before him and his goblet contained orange juice, not that dreaded pumpkin juice he’d been forced to choke down. He ate well, but kept glancing up whenever someone walked into the Great Hall. He wasn’t entirely sure who he was looking for, not until Dumbledore said, “Sister Thornwood is staying in the hospital today. Too many students are ill at the moment.”

            Severus immediately picked up his goblet and took a sip, turning his gaze away from the door. “Why should that interest me?”

            “Well, I thought you might have been looking for her,” Albus said, “Perhaps you wanted to thank her for getting you better.”

            “She gave me a potion, nothing I couldn’t have done myself.”

            “According to Madam Pomfrey, she rarely left your bedside.”

            Severus frowned down at his plate. Perhaps it hadn’t been his imagination then. Someone had been wiping him down with a cool cloth and occasionally holding a cup of water for him to sip from. Why would anyone do that?

            Dumbledore must have been able to read the thoughts from his own face because he smiled and said, “You might want to thank her next time you see her then.”

            Despite his suggestion, Severus had no intention of thanking Sister Thornwood for doing her job. She probably would have provided such care for everyone. He had never been a special case for anyone in his entire life. He started his class the way he always did. He didn’t fail to catch the many disappointed looks on the faces of his students when they realized that he wasn’t dead and there essay was still due today despite his two day absence. He was still feeling a bit lethargic, but his mind was sharp as ever. Still, hopefully Quirrell wouldn’t have another go at the Stone today. He doubted he would be quick enough to get away from that three-headed-dog without losing a limb this time.

            His second class had left, giving a bit of breathing room before the second years came in, so he sat down in his chair for a spell. Sometimes Flitwick would nap at his desk, something Severus had never done but was now gaining a whole new perspective on.

            “Ah, good to see you’re resting a bit.”

            He leapt out of his chair immediately, though why he honestly couldn’t say. Sister Thornwood was standing in the doorway, a small red package in one hand. She held up her free hand and shook her head. “No, please, sit. You’re probably still tired from the Flu. It takes a few days for the lethargy to wear off.”

            “Lucky me,” he grimaced.

            She set the red item down on his desk and walked over towards him. She reached towards his face, but he snapped away from her. “What are you doing?”

            “I wanted to check up on you. Do you mind?”

            “A little,” he replied.

            “Well that’s too bad.” She shrugged before taking a hold of his face and staring into his eyes. For some reason he couldn't help but look back at her eyes, a mix of blue and grey with a hint of green, almost like opals the way they flashed and changed. There was an uncomfortable turn in his stomach at the touch of her hand on his face.

            “Well your color is good, eyes are dilating fine,” she declared, “Any dizziness? Still itchy from your rash?”

            “No and no,” he replied.

            “And I heard you ate all of your breakfast this morning, any nausea?”

            “How did you know about my breakfast?” he asked her.

            “Professor Dumbledore of course. I asked him this morning that if you came down to make sure you ate well.”

            Severus grumbled and shook his head. “I don’t like that you’ve made him into your spy.”

            “Yes, who knows what I will do next? Perhaps he’ll let me know where you hide your diary,” she teased. Thankfully, he didn’t keep a diary. “Now, did you experience any nausea after breakfast?”

            “No,” he growled.

            “Good, then I would just recommend taking it easy for a few days,” she told him with a smile, “Try not to thump any students on the backs of their heads.”

            “How else can they remember not to over boil their potions?” he asked her.

            “Yes, I remember you reminding Derrin Dunstop about that on more than one occasion.”

            He couldn’t remember who Dunstop was, though undoubtedly he was a fool, but his gaze fell to the fourth seat on the right on the front row. Lily’s seat. But now he could see a young blonde girl sitting there, staring at him with large, hazel eyes. He blinked and she was gone, yet she wasn’t, not really.

            Severus pointed to the empty chair. “You sat there.”

            Miss Thornwood looked over to where he pointed. A smile blossomed across her face, which wasn’t unusual except this wasn’t her normal, cheerful smile she gave to everyone. This time a look of pure joy was glowing from her. “Yes. You finally remember me.”

            “I do,” he admitted.

            “I’m glad I left an impression. I had hoped you would remember me long after I left.”

            “Yes, well, the fact that you returned helped,” he reminded her. He didn’t like the way she smiled at him like that; it made him feel almost feverish again. It simply wouldn’t do.

            He looked away from her and his gaze fell to the package on his desk. “What’s that?”

            “Oh, it’s a present.” She walked back and picked it up from where she’d left it.

            “A present?”

            “Yes, it is a gift wrapped in paper so the giftee doesn’t know what’s inside,” she said dryly.

            He wished he could deduct points from Hufflepuff for her cheek. “I know what a present is, but why did you bring it here?”

            “Because it’s for you, of course,” she said and held it out for him, “Happy birthday.”

            He didn’t take it, didn’t even look at it. He just stared at her for several moments, waiting for her to start laughing and admit her little prank. She stared back. “You’re serious,” he said.

            “About giving you a birthday present? Yes.”

            “How did you know it was my birthday?”

            “A little pixie told me.”

            “Does this pixie have a long grey beard?”

            She grinned and shrugged. “I won’t reveal my source.”

            “I’m going to have to refresh Dumbledore on where his loyalties should lie,” he said.

            “Oh hush, just take it,” she said and held out the present again. He looked at it for a while, observing that while neatly wrapped, the paper was a garish red that probably came from left over Christmas wrapping. “It’s not going to explode.”

            “Coming from a former student, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

            “Please, I was never like the Weasley twins,” she reminded him, pushing the present into his hands before he could refuse it. “Just open it.”

            Since Dumbledore was aware of this, he decided it was unlikely to kill or maim him, so he chanced opening…carefully. The paper fell away to reveal a thick, leather bound book. He read off the title in gold lettering, “ _The Broken Wand and Empty Cauldron_.” He looked over the book at her with one dark brow arched high. “This is a fiction book.”

            “Really?” she asked in mock surprise, “Well, I had no idea. I thought it would help degnome your garden.”

            “I don’t read fiction,” he gritted out at her. Did she always have to be so flippant?

            “Yes, I noticed. I thought this would be a nice change.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head, “Ah, before you say anything, no this isn’t one of those silly romances Madam Pomfrey of Professor Flitwick like to read. It’s a rather thrilling story that I think you would enjoy.

            His brow arched up again. “Flitwick reads romance books?”

            She was unable to bite back her smile. “I shouldn’t have told you, but he and Poppy like to exchange books.”

            “Well, forget this,” he said, holding out the book to her, “That information is a far more useful present.”

            She pushed the book back towards him. “Take it, read it. I want you to have it.”

            He could see there was no way to turn down her gift, so he stopped pressing her to take it back. He couldn’t figure why she was doing this. Why bother to help him? Why give him a present? Why did she always have to smile at him like that? His mind wandered back two days ago when she was bossing him into getting into bed and taking medicine.

            “Did you mean what you said before?”

            “About the book?” she asked and nodded, “Yes, it’s one of my favorites. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

            “No, when you said I was your favorite teacher,” he clarified.

            That lovely smile bloomed on her lips again. “Yes, I did,” she said.

            He couldn’t see a punch line coming. He even thought about using legilimancy to see if she was lying, but he couldn’t see any indication on her face. Only one word came to mind. “Why?”

            Something changed in her expression, a hint of something not quite as cheerful. She looked over back at the seat she used to use when she was his student. “Do you remember where you were when You-Know-Who was defeated?”

            Flashes of memory came to him: the rubble of tinder and brick, the sound of a baby crying, the electric charge of magic still clinging in the air. “Yes,” he croaked out.

            “I was here at Hogwarts,” she explained. That made sense. She was young enough to have still been a child when the Dark Lord disappeared. “The professors all came and woke us up to tell us the war was over. Classes were cancelled for a week. Everyone was so happy. We had celebrations every night: fireworks, games, it was one large carnival. Students were getting packages and letters from home full of gifts and joyful news.”

            There was a hitch in her voice and she reached up to rub at one of her eyes. “Except me,” she said quietly, “My mother died when I was six. My father…well he was never much a part of my life. I was raised by grandparents, but they were killed that June by a Death Eater.”

            Severus reached for his left forearm, squeezing at the reminder of his past there. Briefly he wondered if it was someone he knew. Perhaps he’d even toasted their triumph over that murder. At least he had already switched sides by then.

            “So you see,” Sister Thornwood said, finally turning back to him. Her eyes were glassy now, slightly red rimmed. “I was alone. Oh of course I was happy that he was gone, but it’s hard to celebrate when the victory came too late to save the ones you love. So while everyone was getting presents from their parents and toasting to that little boy that survived a terrible curse, I was reminded that I didn’t have anyone to go home to.”

            A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Then you became the new Potions Master.”

            “You despised Professor Slughorn that much?” he asked.

            “No, he was very kind. In fact, as you glared at us that first night at dinner, many students were dreading your class. Sure enough, you made Fiona Walkins cry on your first day.”

            “I’m beginning to wonder why you gave me a present instead of poison,” he said.

            She let out a chuckle and shook her head. “Well, despite your rudeness and grouchy manner that terrified everyone else, I realized something about you. What everyone took to be anger or bitterness wasn’t that at all, it was grief.”

            There was no way for him to hide his shock at her words. How could she have possibly known what he was feeling? Just a little girl, it was simply implausible.

            “You were feeling the same way I was: sadness and pain as well as anger that it all just came too late.” She smiled again, this time a little wistful. “I wasn’t alone anymore, you see? There was someone else here who understood what I felt, who I could relate to. So you see, Professor, you actually made me feel like I belonged at Hogwarts for the first time.”

            He blinked back at her, unable to grasp just what she was saying. How could his usual hard behavior actually bring someone comfort? “I don’t recall treating you any differently than anyone else.”

            “You didn’t,” she told him, “Just knowing you were in the same pain I was made me feel like I could do something, try to help you in some way. So I made a goal for myself. I was going to find a way to make you feel less lonely. I was going to find a way to make you smile, a real smile, not the little ones you would give when you proved a student wrong or when Slytherin bested Gryffindor in Quidditch.”

            “What makes you think those aren’t genuine?” he asked her.

            “Well, you’re not really happy in those moments. You’re just being smug, there is a world of difference.”

            He couldn’t deny that. The truth of the matter was that he hadn’t truly been happy since he lost Lily’s friendship. His brightest days had been when they were children, talking about going to Hogwarts, back when he had hoped that one day she would love him the way he loved her.

            “Did you ever succeed?” he asked, though he already knew the answer to that.

            “No,” she confessed, but there was no disappointment in her voice. Instead, she looked at him with that light in her eyes he’d seen before in the young and old back when the darkest still lingered, but a light was appearing in the horizon. Hope.

            “But I haven’t given up yet,” she said brightly, “Perhaps I can take some tips from the Weasley twins.”

            “I wouldn’t try that,” he replied. At best those tricks were asinine and juvenile, at worst they were reminders of a different group of boys and the nasty games they had liked to play on him.

            “No, definitely not for you,” she agreed with a nod, “I’m glad you are feeling better, Professor. Do let me know if you need me for anything else?”

            He nodded at her, though he couldn’t imagine what he would need her for. Still, there was something comforting in knowing there was someone who was there for him, who wanted to help him. He had Dumbledore for that, sure, but theirs was a friendship that had been built on a foundation of mutual need and secrecy. Miss Thornwood didn’t have an agenda. She was simply offering her services because…she liked him?

            “Thank you,” he said, staring at the gold lettering on the book in his hands. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was thanking her for. He doubted he would actually read the book she’d given him, but the gesture was so unexpected. Not to mention the way she’d nursed him back to health and now was telling him she wanted to help him whenever he had need of her. It was a lot to be thankful for.

            She turned back around, blinking at him with those opals for eyes. “No one has given me a present in years,” the words tumbled out of him. He internally winced, knowing he now seemed like a pathetic creature.

            But she didn’t scorn or tease him. Instead, she beamed at him and he almost felt his own lips tug upwards. “Now I would think that would be something worth smiling over,” she said.

            “It won’t be that easy,” he replied. He had years of experience drowning in misery.

            “Oh I know, but it’s a start,” she replied, winking at him, “I’ll see you at dinner, Professor.”

            This time when she turned around, he didn’t stop her. He looked down at the unlikely gift, mulling over everything she had said and done. He still couldn’t add it all together. Why would she do this? Even if somehow she had related to his pain, knowing what it was like to grieve, why still feel this way even after ten years.

            _You still mourn Lily after ten years_ , that voice inside of him was quick to say. Surely she still grieved the loss of her grandparents. Perhaps that was enough, that still, ever present whisper of loss that never truly left a person.

            Severus went to his office and left the book on his desk for now. He still had to prep for the third year class next, but his eyes kept drifting to that chair where Ana Thornwood had watched him all of those years ago. A silent clock ticked in his brain, whiling down the hours until dinner would be served and the staff would assemble once again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who sent Harry the mysterious gift? What do you think is Ana's connection to Harry? I'd love to hear what you think. Next chapter: Snape referees quidditch and gets to know Ana even more.


	4. Well Placed Threats and Talk of Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus referees Quidditch and has a heated conversation with Quirrell. He continues to learn more about the interesting Ana Thornwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I had a death in my family and other things that kept me from writing, but here is a new chapter. I hope you like it.

            The weather at Hogwarts had not taken a turn for the better. Snow and ice continued to fall, but at least the original influx of sickness had been resolved. The students were all bitterly disappointed that Professor Snape had recovered quickly enough and was back at glowering at their failed potions and taking marks on their essays once more. Fred and George Weasley suggested poisoning him so they could get another holiday from Potions, but no one dared attempt such a thing. It didn’t matter anyways since Snape knew all of the antidotes to common poisons and several to uncommon ones.

            Severus didn’t pay any mind to the disgruntlement of his students. They may think it cruel that he insisted on perfection, but an imperfect potion was simply garbage. It was only the truly gifted who understood such a thing. Lily had been one, and apparently Sister Thornwood was another.

            He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her since she had given him the birthday present. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to her now. Before, he’d seen her as a nuisance, keeping one eye on her, as was his habit for those he wasn’t sure could be trusted. Now…he didn’t know what to think. He couldn’t put a label on her. He never socialized with his colleagues, yet that word just didn’t seem to suit her. She was…different, but he couldn’t say why.

         It was a bitterly cold morning in February, and Snape enjoyed a cup of hot tea in the staff room before heading back down to the dungeon. After his bout of illness, he had been careful to avoid the chill as much as possible, though that was difficult to do in his classroom. He was on the stairs passing the third floor when he heard a loud shriek ring out followed by a wild cackle of delight. A bright orange and blue blur shot through the wall, still laughing and sang:

_“The Nursey caught cold this blustery night_

_Watch the fellows line up to enjoy such a sight!”_

            He zoomed up the staircase, turning invisible so he could evade punishment yet again. “PEEVES!” someone’s shout rang through the castle’s stone walls. He stepped out of the staircase to see a very angry and very wet Sister Thornwood storming in the direction Peeves had escaped from. Her cap was askew over her dripping blonde hair. Her grey uniform was dark and sticking to her body like a second skin.

            “I’m going to kill that rotten poltergeist!” she declared in such pique he was nearly startled.

            “I’m not sure that’s possible,” Severus told her, “Though I’m happy to help.”

            She stopped, her chest heaving in fury. “He dumped water on me! It’s freezing! For once, I am in full agreement with Filch about Peeves.”

            “Filch will be delighted to know he has an ally,” he said.

            She huffed in agreement and reached down to try and wring out her apron. Classes were still in session, but some of the older students with free periods were out and about. Some of the boys were whispering, eyeing Miss Thornwood with interest now as her wet gown left little to the imagination.

            Snape shot them a venomous look and then pulled off his long professor’s robe. “Take this,” he urged her, “before you catch ill.”

            She took it with a smile. “Thank you,” she said and draped it over her shoulders. The black fabric swathed her small body completely, shielding her from the inquisitive eyes of the boys.

            “I’ll speak with the Baron about Peeves. He’ll do a better job of curbing his behavior than Filch.”

            “I appreciate that. I wouldn’t want any other students to be doused as I have. They’re more likely to catch a nasty cold than I am.” She was smiling at him again. He had rarely seen her without a smile and…well, it didn’t annoy him as much anymore. He supposed he was getting used to it.

            “I’ll find the Baron,” he promised her, “best to find him before Peeves gets up to more trouble.

            “Thank you, Professor,” she said. She pulled the folds of his robe tighter to ward off the draft in the castle. He gave her a nod in parting and hurried off towards the Astronomy Tower. He knew the Baron liked to roam around up there, indulging in the only vice he had left: scaring students. It was a sort of penance, though Severus didn’t know the full tale of it.

            The Baron was not prone to speaking with the students, but he did talk with him when he was in his fifth year. It was right after his falling out with Lily, when he’d threatened to sleep outside of the Gryffindor portal until she spoke with him. He’d retreated from Gryffindor Tower, chastened and heartsick over what he had lost. His only true friend in the world was gone. He hadn’t even realized he had wandered towards the Astronomy Tower. Yet, he’d felt the urge to climb up those quiet, lonely steps until he reached the very top.

            Severus had looked out across the dark, quiet hills and the forest that stretched endlessly before him. He couldn’t say what he intended to do. Perhaps he had meant to jump, though he couldn’t recall actually thinking that black thought. However, when the Baron had spoken in that raspy whisper of his, he’d nearly fallen to his death out the window in fright.

            Lonely and in pain, he’d told the Baron everything, made a blubbering mess of himself to his shame now that his youth had passed. Yet the Baron had remained silent, letting him let out all of his pain. Only when the tears had ceased, had he spoken.

            “Let her go,” he said to Severus, “If you love her, don’t make the mistake of trying to change her will. She must decide for herself. If you truly love her, boy, then you will let her go. If not…well, you may wind up doing something you’ll spend eternity regretting.”

            As painful as it was, he had followed the Baron’s advice. He hadn’t bothered Lily again, even biting holes in his tongue when he saw her with James during their final year at Hogwarts. Instead he’d turned to his Slytherin companions, to the Dark Arts, and was determined to make himself stronger, smarter, than James Potter ever could be.

             However, despite heeding the ghost’s advice, Severus had still made a mistake, one he knew he would spend the rest of his life regretting. The Baron toiled away in the Astronomy Tower as his penance, while he protected Harry Potter. It was all either had left.

            He found the Baron up to his usual haunts, though he stopped his moaning and clanking when he realized Severus was there. “Professor,” he greeted him with a solemn bow as was his way.

            “See to Peeves, would you? He’s just tossed a bucket of water on Sister Thornwood. It’s much too cold for any nonsense like that. Set him straight.”

            “As you wish, Professor,” he said, “I’ll see to this at once.”

            The Baron bowed again in departure and the faded into the wall of the Astrology tower. Severus couldn’t leave in quite so elaborate a fashion, being bound to the stairs instead. The draft of the staircase reminded him that he didn’t have his professor’s robes. There was no whisper of cloth at his ankles, nor a comforting weight on his arms. He kept a spare in the staffroom, but he had no time to retrieve it. He had no choice but to hurry back down the dungeons for the next lesson of the Gryffindor and Slytherin third years. As it was, he arrived to the classroom when most of the students had already arrived. There was a murmur at his tardiness, but he only glowered at them in response. “Open your books to page two-hundred and thirty-three.”

            They did as instructed and he started lecturing on Confusing Concoction, refusing to let the fact that without his school robe he felt exposed to them all. He even deducted ten points each from the Weasley boys who were snickering over something asinine, more to show to himself he was still in charge even without his armor.

            The class ended with no one impressing him with their potions skills, though Fred and George came the closest in their endeavors. It never failed to astound him how two such miscreants could actually be decent potioners if they put their minds to it. The students hurried out, as they always did, to get away from him as soon as they could. He never noticed it anymore. He had learned to thrive in solitude.

            The last of the students were filing out when he saw one person going against the tide and entering the room. It was Sister Thornwood, smiling as always, but this time with a black bundle in her arms. “Hello,” she said cheerily.

            The lingering students gave her some odd looks, so he glared at them over her head to send them scurrying out of the room. “I brought you back your robe,” she said, holding it out for him to take, “I had it cleaned for you. Thank you for lending it to me.”

            “It was no trouble,” he assured her, taking the robe back, “I set the Baron on Peeves. He shouldn’t trouble you or any of the students with water again.”

            “I might have enjoyed it in June, but not February.”

            “Yes, well the students would enjoy such a sight as well,” he reminded her.

            “Ah,” she said, her cheeks flaming pink, “I hadn’t thought of that. Now I’m even more grateful for the robe.”

            He shrugged it on, glad of its weight and warmth once again. He hadn’t realized how he had come to depend on it all of these years. He hadn’t really wanted the job to begin with, but he had grown accustomed to it. The robe was another shield against Voldemort. It was also a sign of how he had changed. Lily was gone, but he wondered if she would have been proud of what he had become. He may not win any awards for most beloved teacher, but it couldn’t be denied that he knew his craft and it was far better than working as a Death Eater.

            Ana watched him adjust his robes, tilting her head with a look he couldn’t identify painted on her face. “You’re a little tangled,” she surmised.

            He didn’t know what she meant nor what she intended to do when she walked over and moved behind him. He felt her small hands pull out the cloth bunched up around his shoulders and smoothed it out. She moved around, never really taking her hands off of him, even as she moved to face him. She brushed out the folds on the shoulders, straightening it a little, before stepping back and smiling. “There, just like how I remember.”

            “I find it hard to believe you have any fond memories of me,” he replied.

            “Well you would be wrong,” Ana said, “Whenever I thought about this place, I remembered you in this classroom, dressed just like this. You challenged me, Professor, and pushed me to do better. I wouldn’t be a healer if it hadn’t been for you.”

            It was a stunning admission. Slughorn had always spoken with pride of his past students, mostly his favorites who offered him their thanks with favors, but he had never really thought about how he could have influenced his students. He didn’t have the long careers of McGonagall, Slughorn and Flitwick, so he never really considered it. Now he could feel that odd warmth in the pit of his stomach, the way his shoulders lifted at her words. Pride. He had changed her life, affected her career in a positive way. For a job he had taken because of the convenience and to aid Dumbledore in trying to stop an upcoming war, now he knew he had at least influenced one young soul into a bright, shining success.

            Her smile was shy now, her eyes drifting down to her hands. “Thank you again,” she said, turning and walking out of the classroom, the scent of lavender and fresh linen lingering after her.

* * *

            The day of the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch match arrived cold but sunny. Snape couldn’t say he had been looking forward to this match. Not only was it unlikely that Hufflepuff would beat Gryffindor, but he dreaded playing referee to the match. He was decent enough on a broom, but it had never been a passion of his. He’d tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch team, really in order to get the chance to lob a bludger at James’ head, but didn’t make the cut. No, James had always shown off his flying skills, even on their first day of flying lessons.

            Yet, Severus gritted his teeth and ignored the cold as he took one of Madam Hooch’s brooms. The flying instructor gave him an odd look with her yellow eyes, but he ignored it. Rarely did any other teacher volunteer for referee duty, and never him. Still, she didn’t say a word to try and talk him out of it.

            A murmur went through the stands of students as he entered the field. He didn’t expect a warm welcome from the students, but Miss Thornwood did smile from her post. He mounted his broom and took to sky while the two teams filed out of the locker rooms. He didn’t miss the scowls on the Weasley twins’ faces when they saw he would be managing the game.

            The game began and he quickly remembered how much he hated Quidditch. It was such an asinine game, about brawns and speed, not about intellect. A moron could be a good Quidditch player. Actually, most players were morons.

            Snape kept a sharp eye on Harry, though he couldn’t help but look into the stands for Quirriel. Normally he was easy to spot because of that ridiculous turban, but today he could see no sign of him. He was so distracted, that he almost missed the bludger heading straight for him. He barely managed to skid out of the way, the hard object whizzing past his head by mere centimeters. He snapped his gaze up just in time to see George Weasley grinning at him. It was something James or one of his friends would have done.

            He awarded a penalty for Hufflepuff purely out of spite for that. He hoped he’d never have to referee for Qudditch again. It just brought back a wealth of horrid memories and made him feel like he was a schoolboy again.

            He started searched for Quirrel again. Where was the sneaky little leech? He tried to catch Dumbledore’s eye to see if he had any idea, but the headmaster was focused on something else, something coming straight towards him. Severus looked up to see Potter soaring towards him, a blur of scarlet and gold. He had to roll on his broomstick to avoid a collision with the boy. He managed to see the boy then pulling out his dive, waving one arm aloft with the golden snitch between his fingers. It was such a familiar sight. He even had the arrogant grin of his father’s perfected to an art form.

            It was relief for the game to be over, at least he would admit to that. Both teams returned to earth as the students of Gryffindor came spilling onto the field like a crimson tidal wave. Even Dumbledore left the stands to offer his congratulations to Harry. It was just like it had been nearly twenty years ago. James being lifted on shoulders, carried around like he was some sort of god. It made him so mad he actually spat onto the ground. Just once, just once he’d like brains to be given their due over brawn.

            Potter was whisked away by his adoring fans (he’d hoped he’d never had to see that again) and Severus thrusted his borrowed broom back in Madam Hooch’s hands. He still had yet to see Quirrel anywhere. Dumbledore tilted his head in a gesture for him to join him in private, so he guessed he would find out where the odd little turbaned man had been soon enough.

            “That was a good game.”

            Severus whirled around, ready to send out a tongue thrashing to the cheeky Gryffindor, but stopped when he was greeted with a warm smile from Miss Thornwood.

            “Er…yes…well it was short, so that was good in my book,” he replied.

            She laughed a little. “Yes, well Quidditch was never my sport either. I’m sure Madam Hooch remembers how hopeless I was on a broom.”

            “She’s right,” Hooch said as she inspected the twigs on one of the brooms, “Only Neville topped her, I’ll say.”

            “You looked good up there, Professor,” she said.

            “Now that is a lie if I ever heard one,” he replied. He was decent on a broom, but he could never have matched Potter…either Potter.

            “Good is still a far better sight than I,” she insisted, still smiling at him. “Well I’d better get back to the hospital. Thankfully, no one was injured today. Still, I suspect we’ll have one or two Gryffindor students in later after over indulging in sweets tonight.”

            “Will serve them right,” he muttered, but she must have heard him because she laughed as she passed him by in a breeze of lavender and fresh linen.

            Severus hurried back to the castle, taking a shortcut to the headmaster’s quarters that Dumbledore had told him about years ago. The old wizard was waiting for him in his office. “I’m never doing that again,” Severus declared the moment he walked inside.

            Dumbledore laughed with twinkling grey eyes. “I hesitate to remind you that you volunteered.”

            “They say no good deed goes unpunished,” he grumbled as he made his way straight for the brandy and poured himself a tall glass. He took a long swallow then topped off the glass.

            “Come now, it wasn’t that terrible,” Dumbledore said as he eyed the liquor.

            Severus ignored him as he drank the brandy. “I didn’t see Quirrell in the crowd.”

            “No, I noticed that as well. He slipped out just before the match started. Filch caught him on his way to the third floor.”

            Severus raised one brow. “You are remarkably calm considering he just made another attempt for the stone.”

            “He is getting desperate,” Dumbledore said, “He needs to get to the stone, but doesn’t have his plan ready.”

            “That’s a relief.”

            “Yes,” he agreed with a nod, “Now I think it’s time you confronted him again.”

            “You told me just to watch him.”

            “I did, but now I want you to talk with him, try and see how much he has learned. I want to know if he’s figured out how to get past Fluffy yet.”

            Severus almost choked on his brandy. “I thought you wanted to stop him, not encourage him.”

            “I want to learn as much as I can about him. That may mean pushing him to try harder to see how far he will go.”

            “Even if that means getting to the stone?”

            Dumbledore shook his head. “He can’t get to the stone with the mirror. I’ve seen to that. I want to expose him, Severus, I want to know if he’s Voldemort’s man. This may be the only way.”

            The old man reached for the brandy bottle and poured himself a smaller measure of brandy. “Besides, I’m going to let you do what you’ve always wanted,” he said as he clinked his glass against his, “You get to threaten Quirrell.”

            “Don’t try and make me feel better,” Severus said, but the thought did cheer him considerably. This would be far easier than playing referee in Quidditch.

            He sent Quirrell a note to meet in him the Forbidden Forest in an hour’s time so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Gryffindor was celebrating still, while Hufflepuff and Slytherin licked their wounds. He saw no need to check in on his House, though he did deduct points from the Gryffindor when he caught the Weasley twins trying to set off firecrackers. He took a cloak and set off for the forest, doing his best to avoid being seen by anyone. He didn’t want any nosy students getting the idea to follow him. Not only was the forest too dangerous, but after that first Quidditch match Severus really wasn’t sure what Quirrell was capable of doing.

            Quirrell was already in the clearing when he arrived, shifting his feet and twisting his fingers into knots, eyes darting to look at Severus when he saw him coming. “You came,” Severus said, “I wasn’t sure you had the nerve.”

            “I d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…” Quirrell stammered out.

            “Oh, I thought we'd keep this private,” Severus replied, unable to hide the ice contempt in his voice, “Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all.”

            Quirrell looked down at his shaking hands and said, “Th-the Stone? What d-does…?”

            Severus cut him off, in no mood for his lies. “Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?”

            Quirrell let out a little squeak and his tiny eyes widened, but it was shock he saw there. This was fear, fear of being discovered. He didn’t need legilimancy to read his thoughts then. “B-b-but Severus, I—.”

            He needed a push. Just a little nudge in order to get the cracks started in his fine veneer mask. “You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” said Snape, taking a step toward him.

            “I-I don’t know what you—.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

            “Don’t bother pretending with me. I know what you are up to. I’ve seen your little bit of hocus-pocus. I’m waiting.”

            Quirrell stammered as sweat beaded on his brow. “B-but I d-d-don’t—.”

            He knew enough was done. Quirrell wasn’t going to crack right away. “Very well,” he broke in again, “we’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.”

            He walked away from the man, letting him cower in the dark alone. Dumbledore was right that Quirrell was surprising. Someone else was pushing Quirrell, pulling his strings. He didn’t have the strength to do this, nor the power. Quirrell was scared all right, but he wasn’t scared of Severus or Dumbledore. Whoever was behind him was very powerful, and he wasn’t entirely certain he was ready for that answer yet.

* * *

          Dumbledore had not appeared the least bit surprised when Severus told him of his suspicions that Quirrell was not acting alone. That didn’t exactly shock him, but he was perturbed that yet again, the old wizard refused to voice his suspicions about who it was. “I prefer to wait until I know more before divulging my theories,” he had said.

            This left Severus to contemplate on his own just who was controlling Quirrell. He knew Quirrell wasn’t under the Imperius Curse. He’d seen the effects of that far too many times. Quirrell was willingly going after the Stone. Whoever this was had somehow given Quivering Quirrell enough confidence to grow a spine. Yet the look of terror in his eyes had been real. He was definitely afraid of his master.

            There was one name that kept creeping into Severus’s mind, but he did the best he could to keep it at bay. He didn’t want to consider what that could mean. Still, he found himself peaking at his left forearm; breathing a sigh of relief each time he still saw it was faded.

            He kept his eye on Quirrell, as per Dumbledore’s instructions, but the man was doing his best to stay as far away from him as he could get. However, tonight, he had other things to do. It was a blue moon, which was the perfect time for potion gathering. Normally he got supplies from Professor Sprout, but the harder to come by items were ones she did not have in stock. At home, he had a little greenhouse with a crop of different herbs and plants. However, there were places in Hogwarts that had little treasures no one but he knew about.

            He took with him a basket and put on his cloak since the night was chilly. Spring was only just pushing her way out of winter, but his particular herb bloomed best in these conditions. He left the sanctuary of the castle and headed towards the Dark Forest. He walked past Hagrid’s hut, still lit up though the hour was creeping closer to midnight. Hopefully Hagrid wouldn’t see him in the dark, not that he was concerned about being caught but because he knew the oaf would offer him a spot of a tea and a rock cake all the while trying to find out what he was up to.

            Just inside the forest, tucked in a grove surrounded by fallen trees, was a healthy crop of lovely silver flowers. Their hearts were silver and gleamed as they drank in the moonlight bathing them from above. They had a warm, sweet fragrance that caught on the breeze.

            He set his basket down and removed a pair of hand shears from his robes. Most would just yank the flowers from the earth, but he knew these delicate plants fared better when gently removed from their home. He started cutting, only making it to three when he heard the slight snap of a twig and the rustle of fabric behind him. He pulled out his wand and whirled around to face the intruder, a curse on his lips.

            Sister Thornwood gasped, dropping her own basket at the sight of his battle pose. “I mean no harm,” she promised, holding up both hands to prove herself.

            “What are you doing here?” he asked as he slipped his wand back into his sleeve.

            “The same reason you are, I imagine.” She gestured to the Moonshade blossoms at his feet. “Moonshade is twice as potent when picked on a full moon, and three times so when picked on the night of a blue moon. This is the best time to pick them for potions.”

            “How did you know about this place?” He’d done his best to keep it a secret since he secretly planted the seeds in this place back during his fourth year. He’d had to save up his money for months scrape up enough galleons to get just a handful of seeds, but they had flourished in this spot.

            “Hagrid told me about it when I was a student,” she explained, daring to come closer. “He said he found this place about fifteen years ago. I started coming here to collect the flowers during my third year as a student.”

            Severus narrowed his eyes at her. “You came here as a student? That’s against school rules. What would Dumbledore say if he found out?”

            “I’m not sure,” she said casually, “I’m curious as to what he would say since Hagrid said these flowers had to be planted over fifteen years ago…weren’t you a student then, Professor?”

            Clever girl, he had to admit that. Not many would take his threat and turn it around like that. “Touché,” he said, “I suppose there is more than enough for us both.”

            “I’m glad you agree.” She smiled at him, as always, and smoothed out her skirts as she knelt down onto the ground. She produced her own sheers and started clipping away blossoms to put them in her basket.

            “I assume you intend to make Dreamless Sleep with those,” he mused as he clipped his own blossoms.

            “Yes, though I find adding some to the Draught of Peace makes the effects last longer. Some of the fifth years and seventh years are very stressed out over their exams. This should help them immensely.”

            “If they worked properly, then they wouldn’t be so stressed,” he grumbled. He remembered his years as a student and how hard he worked. He didn’t bother with silly things like Quidditch or clubs. He focused solely on his education so he never had to scramble to get everything done before exams began.

            She didn’t say anything, just smiled at him with the patience of his father’s saints. He marveled at that for a moment. Dumbledore would have just laughed in amusement if he disagreed. McGonagall would have looked away with a sniff, but Sister Thornwood showed no such disregard.

            They finished their task quietly, leaving a portion of the crop where it was to pollinate and seed for the next moon. He thought they might walk back in silence, but as always, she surprised him.

            “What do you intend to use the blooms for?” she asked, looking at the basket at his arm.

            “Potions.”

            “Oh? I thought you might use them to decorate the dungeons.” She grinned at her own joke.

            “Hardly,” he said, “But you seem aware of how versatile they are. Moonshade enhances the effects of many potions.”

            She nodded in agreement. “I can’t imagine you grew them just for sport. What did you use them for before?”

            “Before when?”

            “When you were a student.”

            “I don’t recall admitting I grew them then,” he said casually.

            She wrinkled her nose at him but her eyes never lost their sparkle. “Very well. _Hypothetically_ , what did you use them for?”

            He smirked at her cleverness. “My mother taught me some tricks about herbs and potions. She said moonshade mixed with snake fangs and toad warts, dried and powdered, will create a very special itching powder that causes very painful welts. I made sure to sprinkle some on a particular nasty student in my year. As a bonus, his friend also got a dose by accident.”

            “Ah, so you were out for revenge,” she said.

            “He started it by hexing my cauldron to explode.”

            “I see,” she mused, “Well I understand about avenging yourself against bullies.”

            He raised one brow in interest. “You never struck me as the avenging type.”

            Thornwood shrugged one shoulder and grinned. “Well, I never really considered myself such. I did defend myself from the usual jinxes and hexes if I had to, but I never did anything quite so clever as what you did.”

            She looked away for a second, a slight frown wrinkling between her eyes. “Well, there was this one time. I suppose you could say I enacted my revenge, though it wasn’t exactly a devious plot as you did.”

            “Devious?” he questioned

            “I certainly think it suits you,” she said in her teasing way, “I was only six years old so I didn’t have quite the talent you had then.”

            “Do tell. What made you seek revenge?” He had to admit to more than a little curiosity now.

            “My— a boy I knew,” she said hastily, “He took my doll from me.”

            “I would hardly count that as exciting,” he grumbled.

            “I wasn’t finished,” she scolded him, “He was older than I was and already in school. He took my doll away from me and hid a firecracker inside. Thankfully, I had the foresight to toss it away before it exploded in my hands, but I was still furious that he had destroyed my doll. Of course, it was set to right with magic, but it was the principle of the thing.”

            “Quite understandable,” he agreed.

            “Now, I was too young to use magic nor did I know any clever spells. However, he had taken something I love so I decided I would ruin something he loved as well.”

            A rather wicked smile crossed her face. “He had received a new broomstick for his birthday. Oh, he was so very proud of it, loved the fly it around and show off his tricks with his friend. So I snuck out one night and took some of my Everlasting Paints and _decorated_ it.”

            Severus stopped, turning to look at her. “Did you have a particular design?”

            “Mostly flowers,” she said, “A few hearts and stars. But then I also used scissors to trim up the twigs. I finished it all of by gluing fake jewels all over it so it sparkled quite nicely.”

            “Sounds hideous,” he said glowingly.

            “It looked monstrous,” she replied, “The look on his face when he saw his beloved broom was priceless.”

            “I assume he was angry.”

            “I didn’t know anyone could turn fifteen shades of red all at once,” she remarked, laughing just a little, “It was quite worth the trouble I got into.”

            “Ah, well there is where you went wrong,” he said.

            She frowned at him again. “How so?”

            “To enact a perfect revenge, you must never get caught.”

            Miss Thornwood’s laughter rang out in the night air, soft and sweet and quite infectious. He very nearly joined her, but stopped before it could bubble up through his throat. She didn’t seem to mind that he failed to laugh as well, just smiled at him again.

            They had finally reached the castle and he held the door open for her to enter before him. “Thank you,” she said sweetly, “And thank you for sharing your crop of moonshade. It will go to good use.”

            “Don’t mention it,” he replied. He wasn’t used to being thanked for anything really. He briefly wondered if he was rude to say such to her, but she showed now sign of offense.

            “Good night, Professor,” she said cheerily.

            “Good night,” he bid her as well.

            Severus watched as she scurried off with her basket of flowers, no doubt taking to let them soak just as he intended to do so they would be ready for brewing in the morning. He had a sudden desire to ask her to join him, but couldn’t understand why he should do so. No one ever wanted his company.

            Yet, he couldn’t help but think back on their words together. As the hours winded down and he returned to his own bed, he realized that it had been the best conversation he’d had in a quite a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!


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